Funeral Rush: Blossom Storm
by fluctusxFractus
Summary: The Wars left so many effacing scars on the nations, but two would have to defy the World just to be together. In a time when they should hate, why, instead, do they love? China/Japan Part 1/3 of Funeral Rush Series
1. Tidings of War, 哥哥

"You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war."

-Albert Einstein

"War is a poor chisel to carve out tomorrow."

-Martin Luther King Jr.

* * *

Japan remembered memories of long ago. They were many in number, scratching at the back of his mind, begging to be brought forth and reminisced properly. Japan denied that privilege, preferring instead to bury them and burn the map rather than find them again.

How long had it been since his "birth"? When did the first person to have dominion over him decide upon his name, decide where his borders stretched and receded? How did he become molded into an over-worked, polite, and apologetic man?

Kiku thought about this as he stared out of the lattice shutters of his bedroom. Somewhere, in the dense forests, a nightingale sang a melancholic song, hauntingly resonant with the fading stars and sky like an ink stone. It being early April the sakura tree, which he was viewing from his bedroom window, was beginning to shyly show its innocent pink blossoms, their pistols like yellow whiskers of his favorite animal, a cat. A breeze blew through those blossoms and the petals reluctantly let go, whispering bittersweet farewells to the parent tree.

He'd sat under that tree so many times before, caressing the smooth black bark like it was an old friend he desperately needed the support of. It was fifty years old this year, an age he determined by how times it flowered each and every spring. For fifty years he ran to it when he felt alone, unable to handle the surfeit of burdens a nation like him had to bear.

He lost count of how many times he retreated to sit under its towering boughs, mindlessly tugging and shredding the grass at its base as he lost himself in ancient memories. He was a personified nation; a savant for the people to turn to for guidance and wisdom; a man who was forced to become heartless in the face of battle, innocence that became stained by another's life force.

Now the poor tree had no grass it its base. It grew back, but Kiku would only tug the emerald green stalks away and upset the earthworms working hard below to make his land green. The grass, defeated, succumbed to moss: suede-like moss that Kiku stroked, its feel like a kitten's lovely fur.

Sometimes he would talk to the tree. A breeze sometimes made the leaves twitter animatedly, giving him responses that he worked out in his mind. Or if it was silent, Japan believed that it was telling him to let solitude solve his problems. When spring came, and if Kiku felt sad during that season for any reason at all, petals would rain down and kiss him all over his body, making him feel an artificial affection for it. When it was barren from the cold, the tree would crackle its branches in mourning, and Japan would stain his sleeves with dew.

He gave it a name. Deciding to do so stemmed from his ancient religion of Shinto, "Way of the Gods," which believed that all things of nature, rocks, plants, humans, and animals, were kami, or gods.

She was a female sakura tree. She was gentle and had become a dear and silent friend, rooted to the ground, patiently waiting for him to return when he was away. Her name was simple: Ai, meaning "Love." It came to him the minute he'd planted her fifty years ago. So many things could stem from the word. But that wasn't why Japan had named her that; it was the name of the thing he desperately desired.

No one knew of her significance to him. Not even his brothers and sister who once confided with each other many things. No, they never confided things to each other anymore. It only when they were still young and innocent, when they had each been so antsy to whisper silly discoveries in each other's ears in a hissing, tickling rush. Or when cuts and scrapes demanded to be kissed tenderly to relieve the pain.

Japan recalled the days he'd spent with his beloved older brother China. He had such strange feelings for the older nation, even then. What was admiration burst from its cocoon into a haphazard butterfly with crumpled wings. That butterfly's wings took many years to swell into black wings ripped and streaked by rose petals so artlessly.

That butterfly flew erratically around the young Kiku's head, making him dizzy, until it fluttered to Yao's delicate, open palm. A few of its scales floated downwards and Yao had caught them, admiring the glittering dusting on his palm. Japan wanted to capture the butterfly and raise it in secret, nurturing it from the harshness of the world, but it was too late. Its scales found their destined receiver and Kiku could do nothing to stop its flight.

Worst still was the red bow that had tied eternally to his fingers, trailing to Yao's, bound in a similar fashion. He didn't have the heart to cut it for it was their hearts; a union Kiku had once believed to be only romantic superstition. He was sure it was one-sided; Yao never reciprocated the silent feeling Kiku felt for him.

He was supposed to be a solitary archipelago, unified to none and born to become powerful. When he was young, he learned and lived under China. Whether the eldest of all the nations saw him as more than just a student eluded his mind for centuries. It plagued him, yet it momentarily granted him rare feelings of bubbling warmth.

That red string suffocated his pinkie, choking it to a color of dark pink. The lower portion of his finger blanched, circulation cut off from the top. The string twanged when Kiku plucked it, even when they were thousands of miles apart.

He had wrapped it around Ai, hoping to restrain and tame it. Yet there was always slack, as if it stretched from an invisible force. He walked in several directions in distances he thought would break it, but continued to stretch, stretch, stretch…

_Endlessly ensnared_

_My heart is lost to breathing_

_Watch me fade, brother_

Ai seemed to tremble and the several loops encircling her (if her name and the string symbolized love then…) becoming looser and looser as Japan walked further away from it…

Nihon's eyes felt strained when he unlocked his eyes from Tsuki's enchanting stare, choosing to ignore it. Tsuki's Cheshire cat grin teased him; glaring white shined on him and demanded attention. Just this once Kiku felt reviled by the pallid moon, the subject of many poets' love affairs with the beauty of nature.

That memory hurt. The memory of wrapping the string around Ai held dominion over his mind that night. Why did he feel guilty about it?

Yao was his brother; his teacher; his best friend.

China was one of the largest nations in the world, and also the oldest. He was powerful and wise, with the cunning of a warrior and the heart of a fragile butterfly.

Where did the guilt come from?

He had no answers, only elaborate theories and elusive answers that make no sense.

Kiku turned wearily in his bed, finally deciding to sit up, defeated by anxiety. He rubbed his exhausted eyes with wilted fingers.

He methodically tightened the girdle restraining his yukata, standing up carefully in the silence. Pulling on a solid navy _haori_, Japan shivered slightly at the crisp spring air.

Kiku slipped on a pair of two-toed socks and proceeded to leave his lonely room, wishing to retreat from Tsuki's withering stare.

His house was devoid of human life, save for a few (okay, a lot) stray cats which filled the hallway with attention-seeking mews.

"_Oyasumi nasai, Neko-kun,"_ he said, scooping up a tabby kitten in his arms. Said tabby mewed happily, nuzzling into the crook of Japan's warm arm. Smiling, he said, "Let's go for a walk," eyes softening despite the stress he was constantly burdened with.

It was silent in his house for sure… Voices? He could hear Emperor Mutsuhito and Prime Minister Ito Hirobumi arguing in hushed voices inside his Westernized study, the swishing of papers and pounding of emotional fists sounding from it.

Kiku cautiously approached the room, peering through the crack in the door.

"Your Highness _now_is the time to strike. Our ambassadors arrived from Korea and they say the time to strike is _now!_" urged General Nogi Maresuke, eyes flicking between the emperor and prime minister. "Korea has the resources we _need_; China is _weak_ from both Opium Wars and the Sino-French War. Haven't you seen China lately? He's sick and wounded. Korea needs a **liberator**. Korea is a dagger trained on Japan; we must reverse the direction if we are to preserve another generation of Japan's life."

Emperor Mutsuhito, Meiji, considered it, fingers stroking his small coal beard. He looked up again, eyes locking with the impassioned general. "We know we are to attack. Japan…we haven't told him, but he is _aware_. The Imo Incident and Gaspin Coup are reason enough for him to know. Yes, it is for Japan. China will know the strength of a new Japan."

Kiku breath hitched in his throat. Attack Yao, his brother? His heart fluttered anxiously and his mind begged him for some kind of reassurance. His eyes widened in disbelief; the kitten in his arms mewed in concern.

All three serious men turned their startled eyes to the door, locking eyes with the island nation.

"Enter, Kiku," ordered the emperor sternly, his stone eyes boring into Kiku's soft chocolate ones.

Kiku dropped the kitten, which mewed indignantly. He rushed into the room and closed the door to prevent any stowaway cats from entry. Taking in a deep breath, he prostrated himself on the floor, sitting on his knees and avoiding eye contact with these three superiors, arms bent for added supplication.

"I am profusely sorrowful at my terrible misconduct," he began, fear rising within. "Please punish me as you see fit." Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

General Maresuke grinned smugly, striding over to Japan.

Kiku winced as he felt the man's heavy leather shoe bear down upon his head, forcing him down more.

"You've trained him well, Prime Minister-sama," snickered the militia officer. He pressed down more firmly.

"Japan, Japan, Japan! We're doing this for your _protection_. China…is useless to us now. He's outlived his usefulness to our homeland, **you**, and we're doing the will of the gods. You know how long China has meant to claim you as his own, bear down more oppressively than I am now. Do you want that? Do you want that_conspirator_ to spell your demise?"

Kiku's eyes burned from the tears of hate welling up in his eyes. _Lies, lies, lies! You only want power! Where is your honor?! Leave Yao out of this!_ Images of Yao, weakened, after the last three wars suffocated his heart and stained his cheeks with salty dew.

Kiku forced himself to repress those strong feelings, to maintain airs of subservience and silence. His cheeks heated from boiling blood; his scalp burned from the pressure.

The shoe released and Kiku timidly looked at the Emperor and Prime Minister's chair legs, the general having moved to Emperor Meiji's side.

"Get dressed, boy, into your uniform. You offend us with your attachment to the dying ways," said the Prime Minister, looking sidelong, not even acknowledging Kiku.

Ever since the Westernization of Japan began, his people had begun to industrialize and adopt Western practices. The government officials donned ornate military dress of Europe, replacing swords with guns, and defaced his land with factories and Western buildings.

Their minds had begun to change as well.

They were more brutish, sometimes forgetting the strict codes of ethics first prescribed by their ancestors. No, it was most of the time.

Kiku had been beaten into submission ever since he opened his harbors to foreigners. First it was just Western manners they foisted on him, then escalating into sheer brutality. He lost count of how many times he'd been kicked, slashed at, slapped, and thrashed…how many times things were thrown at him…how many times…how many times…

These were among the men responsible, one of many transformed.

Kiku stood up reluctantly, his chest burning from the previous night's violence by a drunk and dissatisfied general.

* * *

On a hill, the sun began to crest it.

When the sun rises, sometimes you notice very delicate details, like how it transformed the grass a delightful jade color, a warm jade color. Any clouds might look as if they were stroked by a calligraphy brush dipped in cherry blossoms and lavender. Maybe a persimmon will donate its colors, delighting those who basked in the morning's glory.

Kiku felt no happiness from that day's sunrise. Instead, it was more like an impending death knell.

Clad now in a white military coat, accented with black and gold with epaulets at the shoulders, Kiku looked very much like a member of a European military. He shifted uncomfortably in the shining black penny loafers; his feet were still unaccustomed to them, even after all these years.

Raking a comb through his ebony hair to smooth it down, Kiku practiced his stoic and emotionless expression he'd seen military men wear, making him believe that was how his superiors wanted.

Sighing, he tied a sheathed katana around his waist, ignoring the pistol in its holster waiting on a table nearby. He had been granted permission to weld only katana, if he wished, but encouraged to use the wicked pistol in battle. Encouraged might have been an understatement.

That day, the thirteenth of April, 1894, Japan would be supervising a training session of the Imperial Japanese Army, readying the many proud young men for impending war. It was more a boasting to the Emperor of how strong his military had become in a few short decades.

Kiku felt sick. His face and eyes belied the maelstrom he felt from within, his body being drained from incessant worry over Yao, his dear friend and mentor. Though they were adopted brothers, Kiku couldn't help the way he felt.

Some minutes later Nihon was presiding on a balcony where the Emperor sat on an ornate chair, the Prime Minister and Japan to his left and right sides.

A large field stretched out before them flanked by majestic pines that bordered a clam lake that reflected an azure sky. Kiku's acute vision caught sight of several bull's eyes, as they were called in the West, nailed to a numerous amount of trees on the opposite side of the lake. Ranks of men stood in perfect tandem with each other, wearing military uniforms colored like dying grass. They all had blank, concentrating looks about them, focusing intently on the smooth targets, perhaps imagining them riddled with their bullets. Visualization was one of the keys to achieving goals, but their blank expressions disturbed Japan.

This was the result of British, French, and German study of their military, creating one of the most advanced Westernized armies in the world. That is, when your people had never been in such armies in their lives.

The emperor sent a scrutinizing eye among their numbers, head moving slowly to remind them of their imperial audience.

"Sons of Japan!" the emperor's voice boomed like thunder, "your admittance to your country's military is no accident or pure luck! Buddha, Who Resides in Celestial Peace, and the gods of creation destined for you to have such a superb and rare chance such as this! You are fighting for the supreme goal of eternal peace! Your fathers, whether they gaze from heaven or home, will honor your legacy forever!"

Translation: _You're fighting the brother of Japan at the cost of your lives in a fruitless and pointless war, erasing a generation in your families, and most likely killing an innocent people at the price of trying to gain control of a brother using dishonorable ways._

Kiku looked down, inwardly praying for the soldiers preparing for an irresolute war. But most all he prayed for Yao's safety.

An eternity seemed to pass, or more, but the passage of time was interminable to Kiku. Almost all of the soldiers aimed their guns with stunning accuracy, with only a few who missed. They would most likely be scolded, or worse, later on. Such were the impossibly high standards of the Imperial Army.

The emperor scanned each soldier, deceptively alert despite his age. Kiku was too preoccupied with own thoughts, so he was allowed to read a military manual after an hour or so. After the training was over and Emperor Mutsuhito gave his blessing and praise, they were all dismissed, parading away in an overly spectacular fashion.

The Emperor quietly mentioned having an appointment with a representative from the British Royal Navy Academy and quickly exited, flanked by two nervous attendants.

That evening, Kiku sat in his study, the air pervaded by lingering pipe smoke that one of the three men had been smoking earlier.

The large, lacquered oak desk was littered with papers and thick volumes of musty, leather-bound books. The walls were lined with heavy shelves weighed down by equally heavy tomes of military procedures, tactics and strategy, marine and aerial warfare, classics of warfare, military history…War, war, war.

Before the desk sat a poofy leather chair bursting from whatever was stuffing it so, worn from years of use. Smaller shelves, half the height of the full-sized ones, sat behind that standing sentry to the abnormally large portrait of Emperor Meiji gifted by a generous Western painter but to Kiku was of abnormal tastes. He would much rather prefer a watercolor painted washi screen or woodblock print but he was, dreadfully, an imperialist now. That's why the abhorred Sino-Japanese War was to be staged in the first place.

Kiku tried to absorb the thick tome of weapons' procedures that ensconced on top on scattered papers, small columns of small English script blending together in his exhaustion. Rubbing his temples, Kiku sighed once again.

He laced his fingers together, staring blankly at the garishly dressed Emperor before him, who returned it with painted indifference.

…?

"_Nihon-didi~aru!" an exuberant Yao called brightly._

_Kiku, scarcely five years old, launched himself into his brother's warm embrace. The younger nation's loving eyes met his brother's amber ones._

"_Emperor Jimmu said he wanted me to learn combat from you, Ge Ge," Kiku said, burying his face in his brother's warm neck. Yao looked slightly distraught by the news._

_Yao smiled faintly, enjoying Kiku's presence. "I'm glad…"he said, blushing slightly._

_Kiku leaned away until they were able to see each other eye-to-eye. "But I want to learn more characters instead, Ge Ge. I want to be as smart as you."He put his hands on Yao's shoulders, small hands urging action._

_Nihon squirmed for release and Yao reluctantly let him down. "Come on, Ge Ge," he urged, yanking the sleeve of Yao's yellow silk robe._

_A strong wind blew from nowhere, startling the small country._

_Yao's ponytail was tugged by the wind, undoing it._

_Kiku watched as the ribbon floated away, feeling the urge to chase after it. Refusing that impulse for the sake of manners, he patiently waited for Yao, a little surprised by what he saw._

_His hair was ruffled by the mistral-like burst of wind, reminding him of a black bird's proud feathers riding the wind._

_Long and untamed, it whipped around his head, and Yao seemed to be enjoying it. His face was aglow, relishing the warmth of the its caress._

_Kiku's head turned to the side, observing, his eyes wide with wonder._

"_Ge Ge?" Yao opened his eyes to look at Kiku snapping out of his rapture._

"_Yes, didi~aru?"_

"…_Your hair looks really pretty," Kiku said awkwardly._

_Yao blushed was embarrassed, but was nonetheless smothered by Kiku's adorable head cant. "Xie xie ni. Let's go learn combat now, okay~aru?" He found another hair tie and bound his hair tightly this time._

_Young Nihon nodded, running to capture Yao's expectant, and empty, hand._

…!

Kiku returned to stifling reality, jarred so by a loud rapping on his door.

A weary looking British man stepped in, known so by his dress, unique to the British Empire. He was startlingly tall, at least to the petite Japanese, with a bushy white beard and knowing eyes. His face was etched by wrinkles and his hands dry with calluses, raw from ages of wear.

He sat himself in the poofy leather chair, crossing legs and looking rather comfortable.

Despite the unexpected intrusion, which Kiku was actually grateful for, he stood up and bowed formally which the British returned with a casual inclination of his head.

"Ah, Mr. Honda; I've come here as to inquire the nature of your military status and if the advancements in your navy are coming as planned," the man began, ignoring the laws of conversational exchange.

"May inquire as to what your name is, good sir, first?" Kiku said, straightening his posture least he offend his guest.

In the dimly lit room, incandescent lit lamps made the foreigner look ominous sliced in half like a waning moon.

"My name is Thomas Douglas and I am an instructor at for the British Royal Navy," he said without reserve, lacing his fingers together impatiently.

Kiku searched through the repository of English learned, trying to formulate a proper response.

"I am honored to meet a man who belongs to the nation largely responsible for my people's success," Japan said, inclining his head deeply. "Please tell how I may serve you best; I must thank you properly." Honestly, Kiku would have liked nothing better than to send the man and his impure steam sea monsters back to Arthur.

"Our pride in your development is a good start; but that is not why I am here."

Kiku had a sinking feeling it was about the impending war.

The man rose from his chair and starting pacing the length of the room, admiring or observing various odds and ends. Kiku didn't know how to respond to the Western man's odd actions.

"You have modernized beautifully, Mr. Honda; Japan. In less than fifty years you have modernized to levels in almost equilibrium to Queen Victoria's kingdom. Prime Minister Archibald Primrose is quite impressed at your diplomatic handling of foreign ambassadors in such startling modern times such as these." Douglas picked up a small bust of Greek-looking man of English artistry, turning it thoughtfully in his weathered hands.

Setting it down again, he spoke," As I understand it, the Divine Emperor Meiji has decided to begin in impending war over Korea that is set to be fought soon. Since you are going out to sea very soon, I expect, I thought it of the most importance if, on behalf of the British Empire and with Her Majesty's most esteemed generosity, I and my crew of engineers and seamen inspect your ships and give your crews last minute training in areas of the most concern. I should like to speak to the one in charge of the fleet."

Kiku blinked, feeling strange tightening in his chest. They really were going to war. The demonstrations, the increase in foreigners…it was as if the world was preparing two uncooperative rivals to fight a war they did not wish to.

Mechanically and without emotion, Kiku gave the man the appropriate information. With an offhanded thanks, he left Kiku alone in the lonely study.

With no one to watch, Kiku sank to the ground, engulfed in the storm clouds of war.

_Almighty Buddha, Great Kami, save Yao from this war! _Kiku thought desperately, letting his hair veil him from the world.

* * *

August 1st, 1894. To the modern teenager flipping, bored, through their world history book in search of entertainment, this is just another war. Maybe a few paragraphs describe the barest mechanics of the many battles, starting with the beginning and an end, scantily describing the middle.

It was famously noted that Kim Ok-Kyun, a pro-Japanese leader of the Gaspin Coup, was assassinated in Shanghai, angering several militants within Japan on March 28th, 1894. With military intervention, the Treaty of Tientsin was signed and briefly quelled Chinese and Japanese tensions.

However, the Chinese continued to try to influence both Japan and China's younger brother, proffering him by means of military intervention. The Korean Emperor needed assistance in crushing the Donghak Rebellion in which Korean peasants protested violently things such as the government's corruption and their anti-foreigner sentiments. With the help of the Japanese Military, the rebellion was brought under control.

Because Japan's government had violated the treaty, the Chinese decided to send a minor force of approximately 2,800 troops, the Japanese countering with the Oshima Composite Brigade of 8,000. They effectively swooped into Seoul, took the emperor hostage, and occupied the palace, replacing the government with pro-Japanese factions. The Chinese strongly objected and fighting would be inevitable.

And so began the First Sino-Japanese War.

Kiku's mind in the past two years was a complete and absolute blur. He could only remember fighting and death, the smell of brine on the sea and iron bleeding on the land.

So many people died by his side as he fought, switching between a katana and gun, uniform becoming heavily soiled. It wasn't the decorative one he wore for normal or formal occasions, but the uniform his beloved people, the men who fought by his side, wore.

They were under strict orders to protect the vulnerable nation, many rushing to act as shields and support.

Kiku became a heartless warrior. He never killed; only severely wounded. His troops knew how compassionate and a lover of life he was, and usually killed his injured quarries for him.

Sea and land only differed in terrain, and many people died on both.

He never saw Korea; he was being safeguarded and hidden away. Although this greatly reassured Japan of his brother's safety, the fact he was the birth land of many of his soldiers made him unworthy of their mercy once the war ended.

He did end up confronting China, begging his brother to run far away, but the sad-eyed man refused. He knew Japan would rather die than fight him, but they both had no choice. After an hour of half-hearted battle, Japan cut a severe wound into China's back because of a misstep, the unintended final blow. Still, Japan knew he'd never forgive himself, no matter whose fault it was.

After an interminable length of time and loss of blood, the Treaty of Shimoseki was scripted in 1895 and reluctantly signed.

The Treaty ensured Korea's independence from China, and forced the eldest of the Asian lands to relieve guardianship of Japan's younger sister Taiwan, to Japan's utter lack of words, and the Penghu Islands.

Because of Taiwanese resistance, on May 29th, 1895, the Japanese military successfully seized control of the small island nation by October 21st of that same year.

Taiwan was now to live in Japan's house, the only upside being that the young woman was living with her elder brother who vowed to protect her at the cost of his life.

Shortly after a period of calm, Kiku cast the sword that he had cut deep into China into the thundering sea, his feeble war reparation to his dear brother.

* * *

**Last thoughts:** I could just summarize the history, but thought that this might be better. I think that in later chapters I'll describe some of the battles and struggles so look out for future epic! battles.

Last thoughts: I felt sorry for Kiku as I was writing this. I really abuse the characters I write about, don't I? But I do have a reason for his abuse. He doesn't have any power so his bosses feel they can have their way with him. I'm writing like this on purpose so watch out for philosophical overkill. =.=;

Not everyday one of the characters is a tree, huh?


	2. Tidings of Ai, 弟弟

"Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down."

-Unknown

"To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world."

-Brandy Snyder

* * *

Kiku had to see China again after two years of the bitter war.

Taking drastic action, he smuggled himself on an old cargo ship destined for China. Using what Chinese currency he hid in his home for moments such as these, he began his weeks-long journey to China's house on the outskirts of Nanjing.

During his long quest, Japan saw the horrors his brother had undergone, including mementos of the Opium Wars. Underground bars catered to the smoking of illegal opium along with many poverty stricken families.

Finding Yao's house was an immense relief.

"I need to speak to Yao Wang; it's an emergency," Kiku pleaded with the woman who answered the door. Recognizing who he was, she let him in hurriedly, with a hidden contempt for the fatherland of her nation's suffering.

They rushed through ornately decorated hallways and opulent rooms; luxuriousness pervading the atmosphere compared to Japan's modest home back on the islands.

They came to a large set of red wood doors, the young woman knocking loudly.

"_Shei a_?" came a weak boy-like voice from within. It was Yao's.

"_Wo shi Nihon_!" Kiku cried, pushing the door open, to the young woman's shock. It closed behind him as Japan entered quickly.

The large bedroom was built in the traditional style, rich in color and Oriental design. Yao reclined on what looked to be a mass of large silk cushions and pillows.

He was dressed in a green silk robe and white pants and dainty black slippers. He was reading an ancient text before a burbling pond where shining carp swam. Bandages minor and severe covered wounds, the one on his back hidden by the robes.

Yao was pale; deathly so. His eyes seemed to lack vitality and his scent was heavy with the stench of opium. It was apparent by the not-in-use smoking apparatus hiding among some large ornaments.

"Nihon," breathed Yao, his eyes lighting up for the first time in many years. He was incapable of saying anything else.

"…I've come to apologize," began Kiku.

Yao watched silently with the air of regal elegance he carried no matter the situation.

Kiku's cheeks burned from superb amounts of nervousness.

"What my people did to you and your countrymen is unforgivable in the eyes of all who witnessed it. Money cannot rectify the dishonors I've foisted upon you."

Yao looked grim, contemplating.

"I've come to ask for your mercy. No longer can I call you brother as an equal; I am now the dirt you tread upon. I'm lowly and despicable as well as unforgivable. No words can honestly convey my deep and profound guilt."

The eldest of all nations was unreadable to Kiku now.

"Do with me as you see fit. I am yours to punish as you please until justice has been served upon me." Kiku prostrated himself at Yao's feet, tears rushing into his eyes, stinging like knives from his remorse.

"Please sit," Yao said, without any sign of negative or positive emotions.

Kiku looked up meekly and did as Yao told.

Sitting on the cushions, Kiku averted Yao's eyes, ashamed.

"You really practiced that speech didn't you~aru?" The smell of medicines and of heady opium hung over them both, originating from Yao. There was also the faint whispering scent the many exotic and colorful flowers planted behind them.

Kiku was silent, his heart beating fast.

"You escaped your country at the cost of being viciously opposed~aru."

Kiku blinked.

"When your people strongly detest mine…"

Japan squeezed his eyes shut.

"…because of a war you had no say or control over~aru."

Kiku was sinking downward on to the cushion.

_What…?_

Fully resting upon it, Yao's face was floating over his, hands on either side, parallel to his ears.

China began to close his eyes, his hair hanging loosely. The ribbon tying it undid itself, his midnight locks cascading like waterfalls, creating a veil around them like a weeping willow.

"**I could never be angry**…" Yao whispered, voice taking a low, seductive pitch, getting inexorably closer; Kiku couldn't escape, pinned by China.

It had to opium. That was the only reason, right? He was intoxicated. …Right?!

Then their lips touched.

China's heartbeat quickened and he kissed a little more deeply.

Kiku's eyes registered the ultimate shock; his hands clinging to his heart.

China sank deeper, lips pressing harder against Kiku's cherry-blossom ones.

Japan was utterly frozen, unable to react.

Getting no response whatsoever from the paralyzed person under him, Yao proceeded to rain down butterfly kisses on Kiku's slender neck, leaving behind a curious heating sensation wherever his lips withdrew from.

"Y-Yao-san?!" Kiku stuttered, skin turning unrecognizably red.

"This is your punishment. You said I could do as I pleased with you~aru. I'm simply honoring your promise," Yao snickered into Kiku's neck, a hand moved to pull down the collar of his military uniform, the dreadful thing stained by war and the grueling journey here.

"N-No! You should beat me…make me writhe in pain for the injustices I've committed against you!"

"I saw you in battle, Kiku~aru. You hardly ever touched your gun and you never gave more than an injury to your opponents. I knew you would be against this. My men commented on your mercy. I didn't spare any of yours, so you shouldn't be so apologetic~aru."

Kiku pushed Yao away a couple of inches with trembling hands, perplexing the older nation.

"You don't understand," Kiku said, pulling himself upright, forcing Yao to move away. "I did nothing to stop my superiors."

"And you think I did~aru?"

"We attacked you! My men slaughtered so many innocent people; people who could've lived out the remainder of their lives in peace!"

"Francis never apologized, and neither did that bastard Arthur~aru. They killed many people without discerning between by stander from belligerent. Only you did, didi~aru."

Kiku didn't know how to continue. Yao wasn't mad at him; he was enraged by the actions of Kiku's government and their sympathizers, for sure, and of the people followed the government like lemmings. If anything he was…enthusiastic about seeing him again.

Was it possible to be so confused?

"Why don't you hate me?" Kiku pulled himself away from Yao's sweet trap, attempting to sit normally.

Yao moved away, disappointed by Kiku's reluctance, saying, "I could never hate you~aru."

Kiku's rubbed his temples, fatigued by his swirling mind.

"Emperor Meiji said this wouldn't be the end. They all want to take you over again, find some excuse to do so. I couldn't ignore you and leave you to be invaded by them."

"I'll get stronger. War is a test of your ultimate abilities, and I've been in wars since before you were born~aru."

"I'm 2,300 years old, or so, and you are nearly 5,000. The world has changed and so too has the art of confrontation. Westernized governments will stop at nothing to attain more land and wealth, do you understand? I've seen them; you've experienced their might. The only choice those bastards give is conform or be taken over!" Kiku's eyes flamed, impassioned by emotion.

A long pregnant silence stemmed between them, but their eyes said much.

"Did your emperor really do it out of fear? Or was there something more~aru?" Yao's face fell to a serious level.

Japan's eyes focused on his empty hands, then gazing at the pond before them of the carps swimming in artful ringlets. Yao never wavered from his piercing gaze.

"He wanted to be recognized as more than just a tiny island kingdom. Power played a part in it, too. He wanted to be among the stars, one who could be looked upon as powerful and celestial-like. I'm not sure if protecting my people really was at the forefront of his mind." Kiku gathered his knees to his chin, arms encircling them. He felt like a child now more than he had in years. China made him feel young again.

Yao put a hand on his shoulder. Kiku felt like he was ten.

He sighed deeply. "I don't know~aru. Some countries are like us and abhor what their bosses try to do while others sometimes like it~aru." His voice sounded soft and a little feminine.

Kiku's mind was still confused. Not the many years spent in study could come up with a solution to the problem at hand.

"Take your robe off," he ordered suddenly, his voice low and commanding.

"W-What?! D-d-do you want to…continue, or s-something~aru?!" Yao squeaked, blushing furiously.

Kiku smirked, rather out of character. "Japanese never say what they mean," he mused. "I just want to see your wound. It's pretty bad, isn't it? Maybe I can assess it and find a way to help you heal faster."

Yao sighed in obvious relief, laughing awkwardly. "Right~aru." He immediately sobered.

Having shorn the robe, he revealed his battle worn upper body. He wasn't muscular at all, but actually rather soft looking. Not that Kiku was meaning to brag at all.

Peeling away the layers of bloodstained bandages, Japan put them aside. He found a clean rag and dipped it in the upper tiers of the fountain-pond, assuming it was clean.

Yao's back was bloody from the lack of proper care, and Kiku hoped to remedy this. He rubbed the damp cloth with deliberate slow circles, making his adopted older brother drowsy.

"Not the kind of thing you want to be doing, now~aru?" The tension built up over years of fighting was beginning to melt away thanks to Kiku's gentle and dainty hands.

"Sacrifice and duty to benevolent causes that benefit my people is what I always strive to do," Kiku said formally. He began kneading the parts of Yao's back untouched by scars, letting the open air heal his raw wounds.

Yao nodded sleepily, and Kiku briefly stopping the massage so Yao could lie down on the cushions on his stomach. Kiku resumed the treatment, switching between various techniques to relax away any further tension.

"Aah~you're so good at this~aru." China sighed happily. He hadn't felt this relaxed in as long as he could remember.

Kiku modestly smiled, working until Yao felt that he'd had enough.

Redressing the bandages, Yao pulled back on his mandarin coat once Kiku was done, stretching luxuriously like a cat.

"You need to excersise more, Yao-gege," Kiku said, smiling teasingly.

Yao raised an eyebrow; _dare he ask_? "Are you saying I'm out of shape?"

Kiku averted his eyes, smiling coyly. "You're soft," he said, eyes softening. Yao had to restrain the urge to hug him right then and now.

"That's not always a bad thing," Kiku amended. "You probably are confined here a lot because of the wars, right?"

Yao looked downward, fiddling with the fringe on one of the silk cushions.

"I'm either recovering from wounds or singing to delight someone~aru." By singing he must have meant fighting.

"We're both trapped," Kiku agreed.

"In gilded cages," finished Yao.

* * *

After some time sitting in companionable silence, the slow, aching creak of strained doors caught the two nations' attention.

The young woman from before rushed into the room, exchanging a pleasant stream of words with Yao in a dialect too fast for Kiku to comprehend, knowing it was from the years of not speaking Chinese. He did understand a few of the words, which mentioned food.

His body showed no signs of wanting food, but not eating since the day or so before made him weak and trembling. Spending so long in quiet study with what he considered minimal exercise had ruined the years when he had been strong and swift, able to fast for days on end. Maybe the tremendous loss of life and scars of the land had weakened him.

The petite woman strode towards them, smiling broadly at Yao, who cheerfully returned it. She set down two platters of porcelain before them.

Because this wasn't a formal occasion and times were hard, each had been given individual meals instead of a shared feast, as per Chinese custom.

Yao grinned at the sight of the food, as Kiku predicted.

On Yao's plate were several large slices of mutton covered in soy sauce and garnished with what looked to be lettuce leaves. Chopsticks rested on a chopstick rest patiently waiting to be used.

"Looks good~aru," Yao said, smiling appreciatively at the young woman.

Before Kiku she placed a bowl of rice, not taking into account their surprise guest who had barged in so unexpectedly when she had been cooking.

Kiku bowed his head, smiling shyly, eliciting a slight blush on her part. Was such a supposedly militaristic nation meant to be so cute?

She scurried from the room, shutting the door cautiously but quickly behind her.

Once again alone, Yao said, "Let's eat~aru," and affectionately patted Kiku's shoulder. With the air of calm between them now, you wouldn't believe that Yao had attempted to make out with the younger nation earlier.

That may have been on Kiku's mind as well; he blushed madly when that memory taunted him in that split second of contact.

Yao recovered quickly and picked up the chopsticks, portioning out a fair amount for himself in a separate, smaller porcelain plate. His mouth watered at the sight of the meat steaming enticingly and didn't hesitate to dig in.

After half an hour of more companionable silence, both nations had finished their meals and set the plates aside. Kiku had only a small amount of white rice but ate slowly out of politeness; Yao probably, amazingly, ate less than what he was usually used to.

"Kiku-didi, would you like some tea~aru?" proffered Yao, holding a small tea mug and reaching for the tea kettle that sat not too far away.

"Thank you very much," Kiku said, bowing slightly. He took the steeping tea, holding it in his hands, enjoying the warmth and the delightful show of the acrobatic carp in the pond.

Yao turned away slightly, hiding a smirk. Kiku didn't know that the tea contained a potent sedative that worked rather quickly.

As soon as Kiku had drunk at least half of it, his eyes drooped and his mind began swirling. He was beginning to feel lethargic. Promptly Kiku leaned to the side opposite of Yao and fell into a heavy, comatose sleep.

Satisfied, Yao reached for the opium equipment, a bleak reminder of the vice Arthur had imposed upon him so long ago.

He found an opium lamp, the pipe and its bowl, and the drug in question Kiku hadn't seen before. Lighting the lamp, he stuffed some opium from a rather large pouch into the small bowl and suspended it over the flame. Once it heated he took two needles and the now heated, taffy-like opium and stuffed it inside the small ceramic bowl and affixed it to the stem of the pipe.

He began inhaling it; an exhalation of blue smoke rose from his mouth, like he was a dragon.

Yao was beginning to mellow now. His eyes drooped as Kiku's had; the intense pain was fading along with the screams of impoverished and injured people that had had pervaded his mind, the after effects of war.

A bottle of _baijiu_, a drink with seventy percent alcohol content, seemed to appear from nowhere, at least to Yao's muddled mind. He grabbed uncoordinatedly for it, his motor skills shot by the opium.

Drinking with great swill, his mind was stupefied even further; the screams died. He was now feeling euphoric and dizzy from the deadly combination.

His drunken gaze settled on the sleeping Kiku and moved with inebriated grace near him, repositioning himself and the boyish nation so that Kiku's head rested inches from Yao's, the two parallel to one another.

Yao's heart melted as he watched Kiku, adoring how cute he was. Taking in another breath, Yao laughed giddily at how delightfully the sweet pungent smoke smelled, enveloping the two. He also laughed at how much he was grinning like an idiot.

"Why did your bosses attack me, Kiku? Don't they remember how much I taught them?" Yao propped himself on his elbows, pipe smoking lazily in one hand and the nozzle of the liquor bottle in the other.

His lips snuck a kiss from Kiku's, and Yao laughed idiotically.

"Why don't you respond~aru? I like you a lot~aru…"he thought aloud and collapsed on the cushions.

He stretched luxuriously, laying parallel to Kiku. "Mmm…I'm getting sleepy," whispered Yao, abandoning the bottle and pipe to the floor. He pulled a heavy silk blanket inlaid with down over them both. He snuggled close to Kiku, putting an arm over him and pulling the younger nation close.

* * *

The next morning dawned beautifully. Anyone who walked the streets would've seen the bright orb of fire bursting through the cover of warmly colored clouds, purple, orange, and red, and exalting the beginning of a new day. Birds were chirping animatedly, occasionally waking up the few people who still slept; a luxury in the work-centric nation.

Sleepyheads like Kiku.

Kiku's eyes strained to open, like he'd been sedated. His gaze was opaque and then blurred before regaining former clarity.

Something had happened last night; it seemed, much to his alarm.

Yao's arm was flung over Kiku's chest (he'd shifted to sleeping on his back at one point) and their faces were uncomfortably close. An air of heady opium, presumably Yao's, hung around and over them accompanied by the sharp scent of alcohol, creating a noxious effect on his frazzled mind.

Apparently, as Kiku could deduce by the state of affairs, he'd been drugged so he would sleep deeply. Yao must've planned this all so he could smoke and drink without Kiku's pleading interruptions.

Japan sighed heavily, attempting to wrest himself from China's embrace. He narrowly failed, for the older man's arm was a dead weight.

Succeeding just so, he wriggled himself out from the silk cocoon that wrapped around them both. Yao turned lazily away, muttering a few unintelligible words in his comatose sleep.

The woman who worked as a maid would object to the eldest of all nations to be dishonorably sleeping on the floor so Kiku did his best to move his elder "brother."

Grunting with exertion, he mustered what feeble strength he had and pulled Yao up, a hand wrapped firmly around his waist and another beneath his arm. Yao's head lolled; he was unaware of the movement as Kiku proceeded to conquer the daunting task.

After dragging him across the room, Kiku accidently flung Yao to the bed while still holding him, collapsing into a heap on top on Yao.

Kiku bit back an embarrassed squeak and struggled to right himself.

"Warm…aru…" murmured Yao, smiling pleasantly despite the situation. Exasperated, Kiku rolled off and with childlike precision tumbled off the bed like a child falling off of their first two-wheel bike, head striking the adamantine marble floor below.

"How did I wind up in this situation?" groaned Kiku, clutching his head and hissing in pain.

"Something is wrong with Yao-ge. He normally isn't like this…"

Kiku stood up slowly, knees nearly buckling in his dizziness, and walked with a wobbled gait to the abandoned opium pipe and alcohol. He stooped down and gingerly sniffed the mouth of the bottle, then quickly retracted at the overbearing, sharp scent that burned his sensitive nose.

The opium pipe he refused to investigate and instead hid it in a place Yao wouldn't dream of looking. The last thing they needed was a drunk and high man left to his own devices; China was injured to boot.

With Yao fast asleep and the maid nowhere in sight, Kiku decided it would be for the best if he did his best to purify himself to the dirt and grime accumulated from his long journey.

He found a door which he slowly opened.

Before him spanned a secluded space with a large stone-inlaid pool with clear water that sparkled enticingly in the morning sun. The terraced area was surrounded by a high stone wall of warm limestone with quartz bits that twinkled like stars. Tropical plants encompassed the perimeter and were tugged by a warm breeze.

The pool itself had a raised area where a separate, smaller pond had water cascading into the main pool. Sand at the bottom was white and looked tempting to touch.

Satisfied by his discovery, Kiku went to a screen at one of the corners and once behind it proceeded to strip himself bare of the disgusting articles of clothing and found a small towel which he wrapped around his waist; he was much to shy to boldly "skinny dip," as Westerners called it.

He skirted around some potted palmettos with dense blades of leaves, jade green from the filtered sun from above.

Gingerly he poked his toes in like reticent young lady and was pleased to find the water fairly lukewarm. He sat himself at its edge and gently eased himself in, soothed by the immediate feeling of calm.

Kiku began to scrub his arms, legs, and torso, washing away the blood and mud caked on his body. He submerged his head, cleaning his face and scrubbing his hair.

Kiku sighed; glad to finally rid himself of the stains marring his body. A small stool pedestal, submerged, stood nearby and Kiku gladly sat upon it, eyes drinking their fill of the quiet morning and resplendent environment before him. The water was beginning to feel warmer, to his relief.

As soon as Kiku was done, many prune-like fingers later, he lifted himself from the water. It heavily weighed him down as it streamed in rivulets off his thin, winnow body.

He again walked to the elaborate, decorated screen and cast away the wet towel and found a robe to temporarily wear. Emerging from the beautiful bathing area he entered the room, refreshingly clean and dry, to poke through one of Yao's lacquered wardrobes, hunting for old clothes.

Japan found an old, musty-smelling pair of hemp pants (belonging to a man in Yao's service, he assumed) and an old cotton shirt. He figured it would be rude to borrow any of Yao's expensive clothing and hung it on his arm, finding a screen which to change behind nearby.

The clothes weren't of the best quality, but were durable and surprisingly comfortable. Returning to the wardrobe he procured an old pair of straw sandals and set them near the exit of Yao's room for future use.

"Kiku-didi~aru?" came Yao's quiet, tired voice. The eldest of many nations sleepily rubbed his eyes, blinking with large, doe-like eyes. Kiku, slightly startled, rushed over to Yao.

"Good morning, GeGe," answered Kiku, smiling like an affectionate mother. Kiku began to slowly stroke his bed tangled hair when Yao took that hand and held it to his cheek. A wave of tenderness swept over the younger nation.

Yao pulled that hand, making Kiku to lie down beside him. "I'm sorry," he said, alcohol-scented breath wafting over Kiku, "it's my fault you are the way you are right now. I put a sedative in your tea so I could smoke and drink~aru."

Kiku's eyes softened; he wasn't angry. "You're undergoing a lot, aren't you? Vices are hard to become free of."

Yao shook his head, fanning his beautiful sable hair on the silk red sheets.

The wedding bed, despite Yao being single, was encompassed by three lacquered headboards carved with scenes, gold-layered, from _Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Lucky Bats, _and the_ Story of Heaven and Hell. _The thick mattress was covered by ornately embroidered red silk sheets which Yao was now laying upon.

Despite the luxuriousness, his eyes belied his profound loneliness and pain.

"I'm terrible~aru. I can't get through this without doing something to harm myself…all for the sake of **pleasure**."

"You work so hard; you are _Zhongguo,_ one of the world's oldest nations. The Middle Kingdom: a place where so many find enlightenment and beauty. You've given so much to the world."

"This isn't about what was done in the past~aru! I've been weakened~aru! My people are suffering and I'm as helpless as an invalid! At least you're bearing responsibility for things you think I'd be angry over! You're useful and strong and…and I'm nothing--" Yao closed his eyes, suddenly sitting up to quickly wipe impending tears away.

Kiku seized him in an unexpected embrace. Those eyes hurt to look at; that loneliness and sadness that begged for companionship.

Yao's eyes widened, then clamped shut as the tears came, unbidden and salty, to his cheeks.

_Why do you care for me so much? We should be enemies, you and I…_thought Yao in that tender moment.

Zhongguo returned the embrace strongly, dew staining Kiku's shirt.

Kiku withdrew, eyes concerned. "Yao-ge, please lean on me if the world is too burdening."

Yao looked at him, eyes opaque with more threatening tears. "Thank you so much…"

* * *

"I hope this tastes good, Yao-ge."

A loud sizzling interrupted him, and Kiku turned his attention to the nikujaga cooking before him.

Potatoes, onion, thinly sliced beef, sugar, soya sauce, and Benito were all in the deep pan and Kiku was whisking them, cooking it the way he remembered.

Finishing, Kiku portioned it out in two bowls, one large and one small. He smiled as he set them on the table before Yao and sat down at his place.

"This looks good~aru," Yao said, somewhat disheartened at the fact it was of British inspiration.

Kiku seemed to catch on Yao's feelings towards the meal. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't find much to work with." He positioned his chopsticks in his fingers.

"You haven't cooked a Chinese meal in awhile, have you~aru?" Yao said, giving a wry smile. "It's okay if you cooked it, didi~aru."

Content with his reply, both nations took their chopsticks and began eating. Yao was vexed to admit that he liked the taste of the Japanese rendition of the British meal, reminding himself that it was Japanese and not British, easing some of his bitterness towards the food. Then again, it was the Japanese government that had put him in the sorry state he was in; forcing two brothers to fight against their will.

He ate without tasting, merely doing so to give him sustenance. He ate quickly, hunger dwindling and leaving him alone.

Soon, Yao was done. He pushed the bowl away and leaned back in the chair, lazily and without much decorum. "That was delicious~aru," he sighed, closing his eyes in mild sleepiness.

Kiku's eyebrow twitched slightly. "What an appetite," he said almost inaudibly.

One of Yao's eyes opened, and he frowned slightly. "What of it?" he asked.

"I never understood how you could eat so much," ventured Kiku, taking a small morsel of what little nikujaga he had.

"It's because you're so skinny! Aiya, you would blow away in the slightest breeze~aru," retorted Yao.

Kiku bit back a grin, but his eyes belied the amusement from within. He stood. "Oh really, Yao-ge?"

"Yes~aru." Yao took a similar impetus, grinning coyly.

Before Kiku could say anything more, Yao swept the smaller nation off his feet. "See?" he said, like a child proudly trying to prove the existence of Santa.

Kiku was overcome by embarrassment. "Wh-w-wh-what are you doing?" he squeaked, his voice losing its usual maturity.

"Proving my point, twiggy~aru," he said with melodic amusement. He tossed Kiku up slightly to reposition him in a more comfortable way, Kiku's arms clinging to his neck in reaction.

"You're too cute~aru!" Yao said, smiling and feeling warmth from within.

"Please put me down," Kiku pleaded.

Yao had better ideas. Walking carefully, he exited the kitchen and went into his bedroom, then emerging into the pool-like area from earlier. He went to the edge and stood precariously over the shimmering water.

His grip loosened suddenly and Kiku gripped his neck tighter. "Please don't!" he begged, much to Yao's wicked delight.

Yao loosened his grip slightly more and suddenly Kiku freed himself, putting both hands on Yao's shoulders and spring boarding off using Yao's frozen ones. He flipped artfully over Yao's head and landed squarely on the ground.

"I asked nicely," Kiku said, righting, standing. He brushed off invisible dust, hiding his smug look.

"You and your damn ninja history~aru," Yao snorted, folding his arms. Kiku had feinted well, he had to admit.

"Indeed," Kiku agreed, smiling wholeheartedly.

"Well, now that we're here…" Yao's fingers began to unbutton his _tangzhuang_, eyeing Kiku suggestively.

Kiku barreled towards Yao, pushing him towards the screen. "Your actions are inappropriate!" he cried, failing to hide his maddening blush. The thought of Yao brazenly exposing himself scared to reserved nation.

"I was just going to soak for a bit~aru. These pants I can wear in water—even though I'm not supposed to." He stuck out his tongue playfully, pulling off his delicate slippers as well.

He unbound his hair, shaking his head like a lion. Kiku couldn't help but notice that Yao wasn't squishy at all; rather, he could see signs of developing muscles on the already tone body.

Yao's eyes flickered to Kiku's as a ribbon hung from his mouth, raking his fingers through silken ebony. "What?"

Kiku snapped from his brief reverie. "I see you've been training," he said vaguely, true to his peoples' enigmatic way of talking.

"Right~aru." Yao said, knowing what Kiku was probably thinking of. It wasn't a sin for humans to admire each other; all people enjoyed the various forms of beauty in the world. Unless it wasn't mere admiration.

Shrugging, Yao went to the pool's edge and slipped in, sighing contentedly as the cool water began soothing his burning liaisons.

"Let me wash your back," Kiku offered, sitting on his knees near the edge behind Yao, holding a washcloth.

Yao craned his neck to look behind, smiling appreciatively at Kiku. He rose to sit on the edge and Kiku quickly scooted backwards, making room for his older "brother."

Japan dipped the cloth in the lukewarm water and wrung the excess water from it, disturbing the still pool. The waterfall burbled energetically, creating multiple ripples on the water's surface, distorting the midday sun and the reflections of the nosy plants and pungent blossoms.

Kiku began rubbing the cloth in small circles, removing bloodstains and dried sweat. Yao sighed, releasing tension in his exhausted body.

"Why are you wearing a worker's clothes~aru?" Yao said, breaking the peaceful silence.

"Oh," Kiku said, mind processing his words. "I couldn't find anything that would fit; you're built better than I am."

Yao smiled, blushing at his compliment. "Really? Well, I would've given you something if you had asked."

Kiku wiped away a smudge of blood. "Don't trouble yourself. You have a hangover to get over at the moment and drug relapse so you shouldn't muddle in inferior matters."

Yao cocked an eyebrow. "What about you? Ah, you're such a masochist~aru." The wounds on his back stared balefully up at Kiku, reminding him of what he'd done. Kiku turned away, ashamed at the memory.

Kiku said nothing, instead wrapped his arms around Yao's neck. His ebony mane tickled, but that was of the least significance. Yao turned his head and pressed his lips against Kiku's cheek, kissing softly multiple times; Kiku closed in eyes in rapture.

Yao turned away, blushing in sync with Kiku.

* * *

For the rest of the day afterword they did tai chi and meditation in the home's gardens.

After the sunset, Kiku was forced to leave. A message received from the Japanese embassy in Nanjing had discovered Kiku's whereabouts from several eyewitnesses, probably gleaned with unorthodox methods.

Kiku was extremely reluctant and anxious about leaving, wanting to care for Yao longer. However, a prominent general under Emperor Meiji was under orders to siege the outskirts of the capital where Yao's house was located should he refuse to submit to their demands.

The uniform had been washed to the best of Kiku's abilities; he had to wear it lest he receive a harsher beating than what would usually be prescribed for such an offence.

"Why can't you stay~aru?" asked Yao, worry creasing on his face. His arms were folded as Kiku was gathering what little belongings he had brought.

"I abandoned them at 'a dire time.' However, I believe that my excuse should suffice." Kiku's eyes regarded him emotionlessly, the conditioning his superiors had given him. Now, he couldn't help it: whenever he was in the presence of militia men or his bosses, he was to subjugate them with no emotion.

Yao's eyebrows furrowed in anger; he grabbed Kiku's arm. "As long as you're here, they have no power over you. Please, don't look at me like that~aru." He leaned into Kiku's personal space and his lips pressed against Kiku's, hoping to elicit an emotion.

"Please, Yao-ge, not here," pleaded Kiku, pushing Yao reluctantly away.

It satisfied Yao to see an innocuous embarrassment fill Kiku's face as he turned to look wearily behind.

A clattering sound interrupted them, making the two nations look down. There on the floor was a gold seal; something China's earliest emperors had bestowed the many rulers of the infantile, divided Japan.

"You still have this~aru?" said Yao, bewildered at seeing such an old thing surface after thousands of years.

Kiku hurriedly picked it up, holding it in his open hand; it was extremely precious to him.

"I could never lose it; ever. It means the world to me," admitted Kiku, eyes downcast at his confession. Yao had been the one to bestow it to him ceremoniously soon after he'd been "born."

Yao smiled, closing Kiku's fingers around the seal; he kissed Japan's forehead in good-bye.

"This won't be good-bye forever. I'll see you in peace very soon~aru." Wisdom radiated from his liquid-honey eyes. Kiku blushed, and then pecked Yao's cheek in farewell.

"I'll be back soon so that I may cook you a proper meal," he promised, his eyes a cataract of sadness and caring.

"Honda-sama!" came the guard's impatient shout. Kiku glanced to Yao, who smiled painfully at him. He turned and ran, Yao's eyes disdainfully glaring at Kiku's uniform, the emblem of hated Westernization. He longed to see Kiku wear something else, even the peasant's clothes from earlier.

* * *

Last thoughts: Okay, as I re-read this, I began to question my motives for the romantic interlude. It might seem out of place and a little OOC, but I don't see Kiku as a dark and heartless enemy. He was changed by Westernization as well as his bosses' change of mind and heart. In China during this time as well there was still illegal smuggling of opium, kind of like what's going on with the U.S. right now; thus the drug reference. Drugs suck and damage your body severely, as Yao demonstrates for us (is it possible to be drug and high I wonder..?). Another thing I am stressing is the innocence of the people and the bastardization of the government and the brainwashing of the military. Animal Farm is a very good example of this. I'll talk more on it later. C:


	3. Tidings of Peace, 妹妹

"Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today."

-James Dean

"You see things; and you say, 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say, 'Why not?'"

-George Bernard Shaw

* * *

Returning to Japan was like the opening scene in a movie where the main character awakes to find that the paradise they were dreaming of was but a figment of their imagination. For Kiku it was the sweetest, most wish-fulfilling dream he'd ever experienced; he longed to return to it.

The emperor was too caught in a tangle of affairs to deal with Kiku, so the prime minister took time out of his day to listen to Japan's well-rehearsed speech. Apparently there had been some misunderstandings in an imaginary trading endeavor and Japan felt it his duty to rectify a both trivial and important misunderstanding.

Being more merciful than usual, the prime minister sentenced Japan to a several hour study session on military stratagem and gun maintenance which Japan complied with, happy to return to the unprejudiced voices of droning diagrams and their explanations.

Whenever he was beginning to fall into a melancholy, he simply transported himself to the happy occurrences from several weeks before; had it truly been that long?

However long ago it was, Kiku's heart burned in a bittersweet way that filled him with reassurance; something to look forward to.

"E-Er-ge?" Taiwan's meek voice ventured as the young woman poked her head into the study, demurely hiding her mouth with her sleeve.

Japan looked up, his face softening at the sight of his beloved younger sister.

"You went to see Ge Ge, didn't you? I'm worried about him; the minister person said they were planning to invade Ge Ge's vital regions someday," she said, naïve of how suggestive it sounded.

Japan internally tsked, blushing at Taiwan's titillating use of words. He did, however, understand where she was coming from.

Taiwan ran to his side, engulfing him in a hug. "I don't want to see you hurt, Er-ge. The last war was really hard on you, right?"

Japan awkwardly returned the embrace, unaccustomed to such close contact.

_Then what about what happened when…you visited GeGe?_he asked himself.

"Yes, it was, but I was the one who made GeGe suffer. I caused him pain; I started the war," Japan said, sinking into feelings of remorse.

Taiwan withdrew slightly, eyes filling with concern. "No, Er-ge! It's your bosses' fault! They made you do bad things!" insisted Taiwan.

Japan smiled sadly. "It's my fault you can't even speak your own language freely. Don't you want the freedom to do as you please?"

"I want to learn your language and ways the most, onii-sama!"

"You're very precious to me, but I see now that I am incompetant to you as a brother. I've stolen your freedom, Meimei, and I'm afraid that is unforgivable." Japan gently brushed a lock of hair from her face.

She tightened her embrace, it becoming a vice, saying, "I don't mind being trapped inside your love, Er-Ge!" and clenching his military coat.

Japan was saddened by this. Here was another merciful sibling flinging forgiveness to a person who didn't deserve it.

"Meimei, I must ask a favor of you." Taiwan looked up, troubled mind eager for his words.

"Call me imouto, Onii-sama!" urged Taiwan, brows furrowing in frustration. "We aren't Chinese, so call me by your—our—language!"

Japan's eyes registered surprise. "Imouto," he began, "very well. I will respect your wishes."

Smiling faintly, Taiwan buried her face into his neck. "You smell like sakura, onii-sama…"

"Taiwan." She snapped from the tender moment; he looked at her intently. "Please, will you protect your onii-chan, South Korea, for me? If anything should happen, and I can't be there for you, I have to depend upon you."

"What about…Ge Ge," she said, sounding a little resentful of Yao. She looked away, her thoughts somewhat scrambled.

"What is it?" Kiku said, looking at her adorably.

Taiwan blushed. "You're so handsome, onii-sama!" she squealed.

"Um, I was thinking that…Ge Ge…might want to watch onii-chan…" The look of resentment was clear on her face; she didn't seem to like her other siblings very much.

Japan sighed, ruffling her long hair. She looked pretty in the new qipao, with its gold trim and the long flowing sleeves, beneath, a billowy white skirt stretching past her knees.

"Ge Ge is injured, inouto," Japan said, the flash of memories of Yao's scarred black blackmailed his mind.

"I'm so jealous of Ge Ge. You never said it, onii-sama, but I know you like him the best. You always talk about him." She looked up at him, pouting.

Japan was a little embarrassed; he never noticed his habit of talking about Yao whenever he felt a little insecure. It became his security blanket. When Yao was actually there, it became a mother's warm embrace.

Taiwan leapt off of his lap, spinning on the ball of her foot to look at him. She bowed low, smiling. "Thank you so much for letting me talk to you, onii-sama, but I have to practice my calligraphy. I've got a lot of hiragana to learn." She dashed from Kiku's study, leaving the older nation perplexed.

He shrugged it off; he didn't understand pubescent young women.

* * *

Yao threw the bottle of baijiu on the floor, having suffered the worst hangover ever. His head throbbed and moaned in protest, begging for him to stop.

Ever since Kiku left, his depression grew worse and worse. The howls and screams of women, children, and men had risen and morphed into an incessant crescendo, keeping him from living his life.

Many things had been neglected, and his bosses were furious with him. Emperor Guangxu was rather merciful, asking that Yao resume his work once he was fully healed. Other government officials were raising hell about Yao shirking his duties as a nation; two years was enough time to heal, they said.

For a nation, especially an immortal, years seemed to translate to weeks. His wounds bled not from his body, but from the pain and suffering of the people. He would only heal once his people were healed.

What a long, interminable road he had yet to tread.

The young maid, LanLan he called her, came into the room, tsking and shaking her head.

"If only Master Yao's didi were here Master Yao wouldn't be in this state," she said aloud deliberately.

"LanLan-xiao-mei, do you when he will return? This pain…my heart yearns for him yet my body is in no condition to move~aru," groaned Yao into the sheets of the wedding bed.

"That is up to Master Yao's heart how much Master Yao wants to see his didi," she replied; talking in third person was one of her most memorable trademarks.

Yao stared at the gold-leafed headboard before him, eyes diving and swirling as they traced the beautiful carvings.

_The Romance of the Three Kingdoms…_in a way, the title seemed to describe his situation right now: two kingdoms were (he hoped) in love while the third was the Western world, in love with notion of taking him over. They wanted to ravage his land, robbing the people and the natural resources of their supply and strength.

_Think of something more calming_, the inner Confucius advised.

Kiku's warm, loving eyes flooded his memory, that demure and modest smile beneath warm, soft cheeks. Yao's heart yearned for the boy's delicate grasp; his hands craved to hold his lithe body and stroke his feather-soft dark brown hair. This craving was like a beast, newly emerged and ravishing; it urged for action in a host that wasn't willing to comply.

Yao consciousness yelled at Confucius for only making it worse.

China finally forced himself upright, rubbing away the cricks and stiff muscles of his battle-eroded body. Not even immortal nations were immune to the ravages of time.

He felt so confused, not just hurt and depressed. He was the elder brother of most of the Asian nations yet he could barely keep himself in line or at his peak.

Hong Kong was a British colony (he gritted his teeth), Taiwan was with Japan, South and North Korea were "independent," which wasn't much of a difference from being a colony, and Japan (he sighed, lovesick) was morphed into a crazily militaristic nation, not in heart or mind but in body. Everyone else he was just distant with.

What did he have anymore? This modern age was making everything fall apart. Nations that had once been simple and peaceful gorged themselves on Westernization and industrialization and proceeded to rule the world with its vice. If you didn't conform you were taken over and swallowed whole. As he saw with Japan, Westernization bastardized everything; Japan had been lucky to be spared of the brainwashing but not of the dramatic change in appearance.

In times like this, the only place he could call sanctuary was his home and memories.

Ah, his memories…

"_Ge ge, ge ge!" a high-pitched squealing sounded._

_Japan was not far behind him, running on his premature, stumpy legs, arms full of beautiful flowers. A trail of the flowers' perfume wafted in his wake._

_Suddenly, the little boy tripped, the flowers scattered and some were crushed under his small body._

_Japan, stock-still, stared at the damage before him. His face crumpled, his eyes erupted in tears, and he began to wail loudly._

"_Ge ge, the f-flowers! The flowers t-they—"he stuttered as tears blurred his speech "—they're d-dead now, b-because of me! I wanted to give them to you—" His breath became bound in his throat as tears choked their way out._

_Yao bent down and pulled Kiku into the sanctuary of his arms, shushing the young boy and whispering words of consolation._

"_It's all right, didi~aru." Kiku didn't say anything but clung tightly to Yao's dress robes. "No matter what becomes of those flowers, I'm sure if they could speak they would forgive you; it was an accident~aru," he said, rubbing the boy's tiny back._

_Kiku's tears continued to flow, unabated, as he nodded furiously, rumpling the silk robes._

"_I love you so much, Ge ge," Kiku said, unrestrained._

"_I do, too, didi~aru," whispered Yao into his ear._

What happened? When did Kiku loose his innocence, his love? Those tender feelings had only resurfaced several weeks ago out of hundreds of years of silence.

He touched his lips, remembering the feelings of the blossom's petals.

_It was raining more than usual during that year's rainy season. The monsoon rains had been blocked the impenetrable mountain storms and that kept the clouds in deadlock with opposing ocean winds._

_Yao stumbled through the heavy sheets of wet darkness, hiding his face uselessly with his dress robe's large sleeves. His rain-laden eyes searched desperately for the light of his home, the place he needed to be right now._

_He was coming from playing and raising the panda cubs that had been born recently, doing his best to ensure that China's national pride would see through another generation. They were growing up beautifully, he had to admit._

_China stumbled, hissing back pain as needles shot through his body like lightning. Mud spattered on red silk canvas; cold seeped into his bones like tea leaves in water, giving him a terrible chill. He sneezed and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to retain what warmth was left inside him._

_A small silhouette holding what looked like a lotus leaf was dashing in his direction until the darkness faded and the small form of Japan dashed to his feet._

_He was holding a parasol and a worried expression stood out on his countenance._

"_Ge ge?' the boy, who looked ten, said to him in a quavering voice. Yao bent down so he could be eye-to-eye with the smaller nation._

"_I'm sorry if I worried you~aru," Yao said, forcing a smile. He sneezed again, a chill running up his spine. The old nation trembled from the cold._

_Japan timidly wrapped his arms around his guardian, hoping that it might warm him a bit. Yao blushed slightly and returned the hug warmly, face burying itself in the boy's warm, slender neck._

"_Do you feel a little better now, Ge Ge?" came Kiku's small voice. "Let's head back before you get too sick."_

"_I feel much better, didi~aru," Yao replied, forgetting that they were in the midst of a boiling storm._

_That night as Yao's younger siblings slept soundly, Kiku stayed up all night to attend to his sick guardian._

_

* * *

_

Kiku stirred from his studies, deciding the five hours of straight reading would be harmful to his health. He exited the study and quietly stepped down the hall, heading towards his secluded, comfortably small room.

Upon arriving, he skirted around the sparse furnishings and quietly slid open the screen doors leading to the beautiful garden in the back.

He walked around many of the tasteful plants and small trees, making a beeline for his beloved Ai. Although, to his slight surprise, Taiwan was already there, sitting beneath the towering boughs and dappled shadows of the late afternoon, eyes closed and mumbling unintelligible things in the flowing tongue of her people.

Japan stood silently by, until Taiwan opened her eyes and lazily scanned the area, only to double-take and lock with Kiku's soft brown ones.

"Onii-sama!" she exclaimed, her face mixing embarrassment with happiness. To her delight he had removed the dreadful military uniform in exchange for the wonderfully familiar navy kimono and slate hakama.

Japan smiled faintly and proceeded to her, sitting with his legs folded, leaning against the tree. The breeze rustling through the leaves was the only voice speaking for what seemed to be the longest time.

"I know this sounds weird, onii-sama, but when I'm by this tree, I feel like I can talk about whatever I want without judgement. Trees can't talk, but I feel like it responds to me. It's so strange."

Japan laughed slightly. "When I planted this tree over fifty years ago I felt exactly the same way. Everyday I came to talk to her about whatever I wanted. She grew from a sister into a grand and beautiful mother; you can see her children every spring."

Taiwan looked at him intently, bending over to fill Kiku's vision. "Her? She?" her humored voice asked.

"Yes, I treat her as a living, intelligent spirit. Her name is Ai, meaning 'Love.'" Japan bent his head back, green leaves dancing before his eyes, making him smile.

"Is it because of one of your religions, Shinto, believes that many things are spirits—gods?"

"That is partly the reason. You felt it too, didn't you? You can talk to her and your questions sometimes find answers." Japan turned to his dear sister.

"What do you ask her?" Taiwan asked, pulling her knees under her chin, plucking away the grass nearest to her hands.

"Many things," Japan responded vaguely, eyes glazed over in memory. Taiwan smiled, laughing.

"You're so hard to decipher, onii-sama, but that's what makes you so cool," she said, her gaze wandering to the stoic Japan who was now seemed to going into Buddha mode. He was in the lotus position, eyes shut and breathing deeply.

"You're so weird, onii-sama," she sighed, standing up and then leaning over to gently kiss his soft hair. "Please, be safe."

Leaving Japan with Ai, Taiwan walked away and thought about perhaps going into town to shop.

* * *

Last thoughts: No biblio this time, so you'll have to wait. Continuing from the last chapter I honestly believe that China and Japan's history isn't so great around the time of the War of Resistance Against Japan (Second Sino-Japanese War). Firstly, the Rape of Nanking. When I first read about this (The Rape of Nanking article on Wiki and pieces of the book by Iris Chang) I was absolutely horrified. I knew that Japanese women had been forced to become prostitutes but when I saw that Chinese women had been raped and tortured brutally, I was trembling. But I also came to realize that war is not a romantic image of self-sacrifice and loyalty to one's nation. No army of the world can claim absolute goodness (a classmate of mine told me of how a relative of his serving in Iraq ran over a child because that child could've been concealing explosives, apparently Y.Y) and I'm sure every army of the world has done atrocious crimes. Even here in the U.S. I read of how some veterans actually committed suicide because of deep depression.

Sorry if this was kinda a bummer to read. Hm…I've got three or so wars to go! *Dashes off to write chapters*


	4. Ninja Disco, 光栄兄

"Until this moment, I never understood how hard it was to lose something you never had."

-Unknown

"I know what I have given you. I do not know what you have received."

-Antonio Porchia

* * *

15th of September, 1894 

There was such a long period of calm before the storm. The minds of men often wander during this time, on the brink of sanity and bloodlust. Their hearts beat like tribal drums, ricocheting off the walls of their still minds, rising in a frenzy of a mad staccato. Those drums beat more heavily; faster, faster, faster! A dance of wills competed for dominion, ebbing back and forth like a gathering tempest, urging for more power and ready to burst forth.

Outside those minds, silence pervaded and loomed like an ominous shadow. The men grew restless, like a deer waiting the agonizingly slow pain to recede as its captor gripped its neck in a vice of daggers and pooling blood. With a last violent spasm, that deer would finally die, eyes glazing over and muscles succumbing to death's swift takeover.

Beneath the shadow of an earthen wall, an interminable line of men spread like a human river, rising and swelling with uneven concentrations of men. Some smoked in silence, cigarettes blazing at the slightest with each intake of poisoned breath, eyes transfixed on the light. Some didn't smoke and were polishing their armaments with hopelessly soiled cloths. The ones around Kiku were doing this, but he was alert and terribly nervous. Years of training couldn't prepare him for this; the romance of war was nowhere to be found. He gazed out of a crack between the sparsely placed planks of wood that were supposed to serve as added protection; poor protection, but protection nonetheless.

"They'll never know what hit them." Kiku snapped his head to look at the man next to him. He was making quick work of the rifle that had been disassembled, placing the parts in perfect order in such a small frame of mind.

He was a young man, looked like he could be Kiku's age, but something about him seemed aged. His face was young, but his eyes looked tired and ready to embrace death. It was disturbing how some acted as if this was going to be their last deeds wrought upon the earth.

Somewhere, Lieutenant General Michitsura was waiting as quietly as they, perhaps clawing his gun or the sodden dirt like a pending lion.

Suddenly, a loud scream split the quiet night air. That scream faded into a low drone than a roar of the chorus many battle-ready men adding their voices to the battle cry. Kiku remained silent, gritting his teeth at the ear-shattering noise. It was as if their voices had been taken over by some feral birds of prey in place of the hearts of men.

One lone man, riding a gallant white charger, leapt over the ditches all of the men were occupying, the beast's legs churning the damp ground, mane streaking against a dark, downcast sky. The man on the horse had to be of high ranking to be mounted astride such a noble animal.

Thousands of foot soldiers, volunteering their lives for the siege, took similar impetus, leaving several thousand more to wait quietly in the ditches.

Kiku was one of those foot soldiers, clad in a uniform of dying grass blemished by the earth reminiscent of the days of ninja, making him look like a ghost of the past. He flipped with awesome finesse over the wall, leaving his comrades in silent wonder. Running with breakneck speed, he quickly caught up with the cantering general while thousands of men labored to reach speeds half as fast, weighed down by belts of bullets and girdled by hand grenades.

The horse slowed down to a lope, its rider pulling back the slightest on the reins to get a reaction from the sensitive animal. "Kiku…you know what to do!" he shouted over the staccato of footfalls and howling winds. Kiku nodded an affirmative, sprinting far ahead.

It wasn't a long run; they were close to the city's walls. Cannon fire exploded with a dull roar on the city gates, tearing wood asunder to leave a gaping hole with splintered edges reaching to grasp any assailants. Kiku deftly hurdled through the hole, bounding through the thick wall of Korean and Chinese in arms. The man had little time to gather their wits as they saw it best to shoot down the black streak. Kiku avoided them with inhuman ease; he reached to his girdle and removed one kusarigama (a sickle with a chain affixed to it) and twirled it slightly to build energy while still airborne. It flew through the air and tacked itself on the edge of a thatched roof. Japan pulled himself forward with a yanking motion and landed squarely on said roof.

Quickly freeing it from its place in the wood, he replaced it back on the girdle. He broke into a long striding sprint, soaring over long distances between houses and shops. Soon the castle town was lost in a sea of chaotic battle, and soon he was forgotten in the symphony of gunshots, cannon fire, and the screams of lost souls. A few bullets whizzed by his head, but were most likely the result of misfire or bad aim.

In the city's center loomed the great government of the current head official of North Korea, still a virgin in the lecherous hands of war. That wouldn't last very long, now would it? Making way to the gate's perimeter, he could see two lone guards clad in heavy mail, armed to the teeth with as many weapons as their bodies could muster. Even from a great distance he could see that they were deadpan and deadlocked, eyes centered solely on the great ensuing battles taking place in the streets ahead. There were going to be many more soldiers in the palace walls and hallways, just as the general had alerted him before.

Taking no chances, Kiku ducked behind a lone shop and found many irregular footholds in the buildings' strange design, catapulting himself onto the roof once more. Closing in rather rapidly he could see that from within hundreds of the government's private militia were waiting in the great courtyard, jumping with frenzied excitement at the sounds of war; it was like tempting a dog with the yowling of captured prey.

Since Pyongyang was extremely proud of its willows, the one who designed the building looked to it that many of the city's symbols were planted in the courtyard. Many of the soldiers avoided them, though, for they were too intent on readying themselves of the enemy that should come crashing through the gates at any moment.

Kiku took advantage of this and bunched his legs, lunching through the breathless air and landed in the nearest willow. A soldier looked up and saw what looked like a roosting bird. Shrugging, the man looked away. Japan's head shot up from the folds of his uniform and he stood up, eyes gleaming soullessly. The full moon revealed itself and for a scant moment illuminated around him in full regalia and in all feral glory. Within a second he seemed to teleport to the next willow, rustling the branches with all the sound a small bird would make as it prepared to untangle itself from the groping branches.

The thick brambles hid him well as he leapt from tree to tree. His socks soon became ripped from the rough bark. The next tree was much taller than the one he occupied now, fissures of split bark and aged roughness seemed more imposing than the last trees he'd traversed over. Regret for undertaking this mission came too late and Japan poised himself once more springing to the tree older than the grandfathers of his comrades. The old tree betrayed him and as he landed, a branch broke off and clattered noisy to the ground. He held his breath for the longest moments, hearing some soldiers plod over and swear angrily in their native tongue as they grudging looked up. Satisfied with their once over, they walked off, champing on cigarettes burning hotly.

Kiku removed himself from the lee's shadow and began calculating the distance between himself and roof of the grand spanning palace. His mind calculated quickly and told him to go for it before the soldiers suspected the intruder was no great black bird. Running down a thick branch that just barely touched the roof, Japan made another great leap. However, this time he missed slightly, hands just barely catching himself. His toes became smart and found a small foothold and he used this to push himself up while his hands pulled him up.

He righted himself while on the roof, head sideswiping and scanning for any prospective enemies.

"I swear I saw a person the size of a kid hanging for dear life off of that roof!" an exasperated voice from below, carried by a warm breeze. Another inaudible voice interjected, disbelieving. "You don't believe me? Never mind. Must be night watch getting to me, is all…" Kiku eavesdropped, slightly amused by the blundering soldiers of his enemy.

Not caring to hear more, Kiku sped away from the soldiers' near and far reach, making way to the pinnacle of the building. Crouching down, he took a kunai from the holster on his thigh and began hacking away the delicate tiles covering the roof. Next another layer which he bashed inwards. He cleared away the rubble and cut through a thin membrane, completing the opening of his means of entry. He stashed his kunai away and leapt through the opening, quickly moving to a lee in the grand hallway's shadows.

Two guards had their backs turned to him and Kiku took a blow dart and set it inside a manually used blowgun. With an instantaneous exhalation of breath, the darts lodged themselves in the men's vulnerable necks and they collapsed loudly in a heap. Smirking smugly, Kiku soundlessly ran to the unconscious men and rifled through their pockets until he found and large ring densely packed with keys of many sizes and shapes.

_This is too easy…_Kiku thought with exalted delight. He removed a map from the folds of his robe and a pen. Squatting, he circled the point of entry with the fountain pen and then studied his current location to his target's supposed location. He scanned it efficiently and then committed it to memory. Folding it carefully and returning it to its place, he pulled a hood over his head and tightened the wide scarf over his face, leaving his eyes the only thing visible.

From below, he could see perfectly placed rafters supporting the building from above, with just enough space in between for him to comfortably jump to each parallel rafter. Using the grace of disciplined propulsion, he moved against gravity, leaping in a zig-zag-like way from wall to wall until he elegantly flipped unto the nearest rafter. Mentally referring to the map he'd memorized just second earlier, he began bounding from rafter to rafter until he realized the target's location was quite near in the vicinity he was in. In this fashion he no longer need confront any more guards, thus reducing the need for confrontation dramatically. Guards below couldn't hear him, ears muffled in the great stuffing of their ornamental helmets.

Having leapt a great distance, his breath was ragged, hissing in and out of his flaring nostrils, keeping it as quiet as his body allowed. As his lungs began to settle in the brief reprieve he was now taking, Japan tumbled adroitly to the ground, landing like a cat on all fours. Pressing himself to a corner, he studied the markings of the lock in the door before him, examining size and shape. He quickly leafed through the keys until his eyes settled on the correct one. He gently placed it into the lock, turning it as fast as his fingerless gloved hands could.

A faint click rang in his highly sensitized ears, and a faint relief settled on his face. Training with Westernized locks had paid off, despite his belief that they were utterly useless.

The door creaked loudly as it opened, abrasive in Kiku's ears. He skittered noiselessly to a corner, bending low in the darkness. He realized how well the darkness suited him, he thought, smirking.

"Tell me, why are you here?" came a voice, the owner seated behind a broad desk. It large leather chair swiveled around, revealing the man's face.

Kiku didn't reply.

"You've come here to kill me, is that it? I'm the one issuing the commands and without me, you surmised, the armies waiting behind these walls would be as stupid as lemmings, correct? Ah, I wonder how much the Imperial Japanese army paid such a skillful spy such as yourself to undertake such a bold and suicidal mission," he sneered, face crumpling into a grotesque mask.

"I did it because the least lives lost would be for the best; for my brothers' sakes I did it."

"So, you would rather infiltrate and assassinate than kill and rip asunder the minds and flesh of the Chinese and Korean armies. Why? You are more advanced than we; why not crush us since we're clearly no match for your armies?"

"That would be most dishonorable," Japan replied, voice aloof and detached.

"Save that for the temple priests, Nihon," he said, saying Kiku's name as if it was something poignant. "Ah, I have someone who is dying to meet you." With a sweeping gesticulation in the back of the large room, a guard came, roughly shoving his prisoner to the floor.

Yao's hair was a mess of sable until he warily raised his head. Japan's heart lurched, but his eyes belied nothing. Kiku stood, ready to attack the cruel official and his proxy.

China's eyes were weak, but as soon as they locked with Japan's, tears overflowed and sobs shook him. "I don't want to fight my didi~aru!" he thundered, rage lacing his voice. The possessiveness over Japan in his voice made the island nation's heart thump loudly.

"You have no choice," the official said smugly, pulling a pistol from the bowels of his desk. Pulling back the hammer, he aimed it at Japan's head who was too dumbstruck by their meeting in such an unexpected place. The guard removed the burning ropes from China's hands and he rubbed them; Kiku looked on endearingly; sadly.

He removed his scarf and hood, unveiling the bloody streaks that marred his face. Yao's breath hitched in his throat and Kiku turned away, unable to face his brother.

"You preach honor and yet you stand before us wearing the guise of a ninja, a profession considered dishonorable in your long past?"said the official, egging Kiku to an impetus.

Nodding slightly to China, Kiku pulled two kunai from the holster on his thigh; Yao caught one and swirled around, hair whipping around his head, stabbing his captor's chest, aiming directly for the heart. Kiku catapulted high into the air, falling in an arc just over the cruel and pompous official's head. Metal kissed skin as the blade exploded through his skull, the weight of gravity and its wielder forcing it through. Kiku released as it lodged itself firmly in bone and flesh, vaulting off of the back of the chair and onto the floor.

A sickening burbling emanated from the men's throats as red bubbles of blood gurgled from their mouths. They both fell with a sickening thud, spasmodically twitching until death severed their souls from their shells, said shells now silent and loosing heat.

Yao dropped the kunai; it clattered loudly to the floor. He dropped to his knees, eyes transfixed in horror at what he just did.

"I killed him~aru." Kiku moved, concerned, towards him. The overwhelming confidence that allowed him to perform at his zenith had faded; he was submissive and timid in the face of fear once again.

"Yao-ge?" he ventured, his hand reaching gingerly to Yao's shoulder.

Suddenly Yao whipped his head around, eyes filled a mad delight. "I was so heartless, Kiku-di! I killed him…we can escape now…"

"Yao-ge?" he said louder. His hand touched Yao's shoulder, startling the older man.

"W-When will this war be over?" he sobbed, hiccupping. He wiped a soiled sleeve on his face, removing the tears.

Kiku didn't know what to say. He knelt down and enveloped Yao in a hug, China clung to his arms. "I don't know, Yao-ge; I don't know." His embrace tightened just a little.

* * *

Biblio: Erm…just look up ninjas on Wiki, okay? Links aren't working for some reason… *scowls*

Last thoughts: Was this pretty epic? I really hope so. Oh! When you read this and the next chapter, go on YouTube and search "Shanghai*Disco." It's so lovely and perfect for sneaky/battles of epic-ness moments. Again, this wasn't a real battle during the Sino-Japanese War, I'm sure, since ninjas were long gone by then. I just was excersizing my artistic license. It just seemed like a fun idea to me, ya know? Good ideas are the easiest to write, I think.

This chapter and the next chapter are flashbacks, by the way. The next chapter will be the battle between Yao and Kiku in its entirety, not just the measily sentence I gave you some odd chapters ago. The next chapter after that will return to the main story. Anywho, keep reading and I'll keep writing! Please review if you feel like it.^^


	5. Descending Madness, 光栄姉

"It's just that my killing methods are a tiny bit like the horror movies. Plus, I just like having my body soaked in blood, and it's really just good manners that I like to smile at others."

-Prince, **½ Prince**, Ch. 18 pp. 22-23

* * *

Kiku's blade sang through the splitting air, slicing cleanly through the flesh of the charging man just inches way from spearing the young nation through with a bayonet. Another at his flank screamed in a rising crescendo in synchronization with the loud and sudden gunshot. The man who had been stabbed gasped blankly like a fish, eyes wide in pain, and the man who had been shot in both arms and legs mirrored that expression as they collapsed, writhing, on the ground. Two Japanese soldiers appeared from the darkness and smoothly stabbed the Chinese men's chests with their military daggers and just as quickly retracted them with cruel efficiency.

Their breaths came out ragged and they choked on their own blood as it burbled forth crimson from their throats. Then their bodies gave up on life and their heads lolled heavily to the side as if a taught string had been released. Japan knelt down and pulled their eyelids down so he wouldn't have to be stared down by their soulless eyes. The two men retrieved squares of cloth from their pockets and wiped their knives clean before sheathing them. As noiselessly as they could they stacked the two bodies in the lee of a great tree, the wind dead, which proved useless as yowling animals were being driven mad by the reeking blood.

The forest they were in was dense with foliage and branches weighed down with thick, dense leaves. It being the typhoon season of summer, a hell of torrential rain and wind had been bequeathed upon them for this certain mission. The overcast sky was a maelstrom of raging clouds and a confusion of branches and leaves being lifted and carried away by the wind. Already Japan had been slashed and ripped apart by those haphazard fliers and their wooden fingers that groped for the ground. Rivulets of blood streamed down his face. One ran down near his lips and he licked it away with his tongue, ignoring the coppery taste and instead letting it soothe his throat when unavailable water couldn't.

Their mission had been quite simple and direct: locate and affront Yao Wong in a duel or sneak attack and weaken him greatly. How perfect it was, the general in command of this mission said, that China should be here in assisting with troop morale and strategy. Apparently Dage was here to be supportive of his younger siblings, North and South Korea. South Korea especially since he wasn't as secure as his Northern sibling who was actually quite a sadist, a quality Kiku found within himself in the face of battle. The place they were at was a modest little backwater town that was sparsely fortified and relatively unknown.

_Change their colors; use them mixed with your own. Treat your soldiers well, take care of them._

The men with him now were actually converted from serving their home country to serving his, allured by promises of reviving their poverty-stricken to levels of believable prosperity. Kiku saw to it personally that he prevented them from making empty promises. Korean men were slowly beginning to converge into the numbers of the Japanese military slowly but surely. It was common knowledge that men's minds were easily swayed to heed the call of any form of betterment in their lives.

The men with him now were Korean, both who had wives and children and starved for high paying odd job of virtually any type. Kiku was an ardent student of Sun Tzu and took all of his teachings to heart, one of which mentioned taking the military of the enemy and giving them things better than what their own countries' armies were offering.

"Are you ready?" Kiku asked, putting a trusting hand on the man's shoulder closest to him. He nodded briskly and looked in the direction they were headed. Dressed in the uniform of the Imperial Japanese military, he looked no different from a native Japanese man.

Japan sheathed his katana after wiping it clean and put the rifle he had used securely around his back. Motioning for his comrades to follow, they walked through the tumultuous forest, skirting around dense leaves and green fans. He kept fairly low to the ground, avoiding the sight of any of the hidden enemy and striding lightly. Within several minutes they began to see the silhouettes of small houses rise and swell like the waves of a great ocean. They began to close in on it, hiding in the lee of trees and any other source of protection they could find.

Nearby in the forests twenty more men awaited in similar conditions, hunkering low in the cover of shadow and flora. Japan's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene before him. The village was small, but growing and beginning to flourish. The embankments fortifying it looked stronger than what he had seen in previous settlements, suggesting that this one was much wealthier than the standard ilk. Under the pallid moonlight that slanted and crested many thatched and clay tiled roofs, the moon occasionally being cloaked away in lingering clouds, hampering what little range of vision they had. The forest seemed to protest the growing village, winnow wands of branches surmounting the protective walls, trying to engage in a war of attrition with the powerful humans. Japan could hear the cries of the forest, something he was finely attuned to since the advent of Shinto. He placed a hand on a tree older than the grandfathers of the men in his troupe, as if soothing it.

"Honda-san," interrupted a man's voice, his gaze zooming to a group of three silhouettes striding along the lee of the high wall, suddenly stopping like a fox suspicious of a farmer's impending footfalls. The one leading them was a man that Japan grew to trust immensely in the struggles through the dense forests of Korea. Now he was acting on the plan they had concocted just days before, doing so with efficiency and pin-point perfection.

Japan's heart fluttered like a small butterfly, a hummingbird drugged and erratic. Ever since they had begun the war, the men fell into bouts of listlessness and melancholy. War was no epic romance and yet they were flirting in a unadultered way with death, the death who signed contracts that could only be breached by dumb luck or Fate's merciful hand. He became saddled with the natural high of adrenaline, his instincts screaming jubilantly at the immanent action to come.

His eyes narrowed with bestial delight as the screams and howls of men and women ripped and tore asunder the still air, exciting Kiku's senses dangerously. The men stalking at the foot of the palisades had disappeared, and even a complete dunce would know what had transpired.

Pillars of searing flames and plumes of heavy drunken smoke billowed high into the lingering clouds, gorging the sky with their poisonous breath and raining upon the heads of mortals the ash and cinders from the arsonists' masterful display. People began to scatter in frenzy, pouring from the village gates like the Yellow river, pregnant with silt and the floodwaters of summer. Babies and children joined the cacophony of screams, filling the forests with a mad symphony of fleeing animals' howls and squawks and the heartrending cries of the village people. The gates weren't clogged for long as the small population finally escaped and deliriously stampeded into the forest of phantoms.

Kiku and his men charged forward, several soldiers of the enemy's side shouting over the crackle and roar of the burning wood frames of the houses. Japan's men charged though brazenly to affront their foes and countrymen while he stayed behind to ready himself for his own personal battle. Unsheathing his katana, he dashed through the gates of clay roofed by crude clay tiles.

From the outside, what he had seen was a far cry from what chaos ensued in. Thatched houses were collapsing in on themselves, consumed by gluttons born from heat. Snapping his head to the sounds of a wailing woman, he came upon a home just beginning to sag and collapse from the flames. A woman lay there, face masked by ash and blood, her young son pleading in vain for her to liberate herself from the rubble of massive supportive beams and clay debris. Kiku moved the child aside, who thrashed wildly and screamed like a hare ensnared in a painful noose as the strange man placed him a safe distance away from the flaming carnage.

Returning inside, sweat matted his hair and clothes as he squinted through the intense waves of heat. The woman looked weakly up at him and their eyes exchanged powerful emotions: hers torturous pain and his profound guilt. Delaying for not a second more, he shoved away the heaviest of the wooden beams which fell away and then worked as quickly as he could to free her from the other bits of rubble and debris. Once freed, she looked up weakly, her hair clinging to her bloodstained face and crimson staining otherwise well-worn yet ruined clothes. Gently he turned her from on her stomach and scooped her into his arms, she acknowledging him with a soft groan. She was intense pain and needed medical aid fast.

The roof groaned loudly, the flames dining upon it crackling excitedly. At the junction where a supporting column met reinforced beams was beginning to crack and moan loudly, much to Kiku's alarm. With a final moan like bending metal the ceiling fell in, and Kiku leapt like a fleeing hare from the entryway and landed awkwardly on his feet, pain shooting up his leg and creating an intense fog of electric sensations in his mind that rebounded from his weak ankles back into his mind. He smothered a hiss of pain in his throat and forced himself to focus of the woman treading deeply into an unconscious state.

He found the child nestled in the arms of a bush of thick green leaves, cowering and sobbing loudly. The boy hiccupped and ran from the plant's embrace and ran to his mother's side, unabashed by the fact he was in the midst of the enemy. Her son tenderly wiped his mother's face, trying to clean it in vain. Kiku gently set her down against the trunk of a tree and began wiping her face with a damp cloth. Her eyes fluttered open and she shook her head, as if in refusal. The beautiful youth before her made her believe a celestial being was before her and she began to utter a prayer in undecipherable Korean, which Kiku had been strongly discouraged from learning, sighs and gasps of pain mixing in her words. As compassionately as he could he tended to her with clumsy assistance from the young boy.

Shortly she began to regain her wits and her eyes locked with Kiku's and almost immediately he could see her pupils dilating in intense fear. Kiku only continued his treatment; unknown to him her hands reached into the folds of her robe and from it she produced a dirk. Concealed in one of her large sleeves she readied it, hands trembling in terrible anticipation at what she would have to do.

Kiku gasped as he felt the cold metal slide into his raw flesh, eagerly making a nest in interrupted organs and split veins. His blood drained like an enthusiastic river free from the captor sluice and making way into the world. She jerked it in deeper and Kiku's brows furrowed deeply and his eyes squinted as pain spread like fast-acting anesthetic through the blade like a syringe of immense proportions. He inhaled and exhaled blood, and he could only taste and smell the blood.

She flinched away, scrambling away from him and grabbing her sobbing child. With great exertion she and the boy held tightly in her arms dashed to the failing gate, great doors hanging crookedly while being feasted upon by the flames, heat running a finger over their pale faces. Kiku watched feebly as the pain gleefully tortured him, but he was here on a mission and no wound, however mortal, would keep him from it. Weakening China was a much more preferable option to killing him. At least weakened Yao would have much easier time escaping should he choose to do so.

His trembling hand quavered near to the hilt of the dirk, then suddenly grasping it tightly. Harshly he wresting it from its warm sheath and tossed it aside, suppressing screams of pain and hisses, yet his mind under an enormous pressure with heat like cauterized metals. His hand replaced blade as it covered his side, trying to keep back the waters of life from overflowing. His eyes, despite being muddled by pain, sharply focused on the approaching figures. They were Chinese and Korean soldiers, who hadn't betrayed the mighty government of China, and were desperately filling wooden buckets with the sloshing water of irrigated streams and ponds that originated from the deep forests. There must have been a hundred men for the painfully small town, shouting above the purring crackle of the flames, like lions purring as they filled their mouths with the meat of their latest kill.

The figure that stood out most was a man, with the body like a petite boy and a face the reflected the flames like a pale moon, his long hair whisking wildly as his head roved wildly for signs of trapped people. The uniform he wore was a crisp emerald color smothered by the hue of leaves. Those almond eyes of polished obsidian finally caught sight of something truly unexpected.

Crippled by pain, the Japanese young man clenching his side and mouth breathed heavily. His eyes had a bestial fear in them as he looked he engaged in a staring contest with a dirk shining a lustrous liquid red. He was trembling terribly and seemed only capable of breathing and staring, drunk on the heady drink of pain. Another goblet was poured for the boy as he nearly keeled over, but he forced himself to stay upright. His teeth were gritted behind pursed lips and his sable hair seemed to flare like a feline worked into a fine rage. His breathing was ragged and he hissed like a feral cat.

Yao's heart lurched, utterly horrified by the sight of his younger sibling before him, his throat becoming choked by fear's vice. Kiku snapped from his stupor, black holes dilating in pools of gray. Instinctively he grabbed his katana and ripped it from its black hull with a deep metallic ringing that resounded loudly in their ears. He slowly stood, the katana gleaming wickedly as it was trained on the much older nation.

Kiku's mouth twitched upwards, brows furrowed with unfocused concentration and face wrinkled like starched cloth especially where his brows furrowed deepest. He stood shakily, yet the tip of the sword seemed keen on Yao like iron powder spiked by magnetism, never wavering or faltering. A mad smirk played across his face and a crazed look broke the otherwise deadpan mask he usually wore.

"T-Take up your sword, D-Dag-ge," his voice trembled, and a gasping laugh escaped his lips. He was a rabid animal, blinded by pain and driven by his will to survive and honor his original mission. The smirk practically twitched to his eyes. He was a madman and would leave no other option than to fight.

Yao shook his head, causing Kiku to frown angrily. "What's wrong?! Take up a weapon, Gege! I'll give you my katana if you want; I've got a dirk right here I can use," he said, showing Yao his bloodied dirk sticky and warm with blood with a sick sort of pride.

Yao glanced briefly at the sheathed sword tethered at his side. Reluctantly he pulled it slowly, letting it catch the blinding orange reflection of the dancing flames. Kiku smirked madly once again, euphoria bred by pain gorging him with a wild rush of energy.

China was focused, intently staring at Kiku and summarizing all of the boy's weaknesses in a split second. He held his sword in two steady, expert hands, poised for battle. Japan was weak; as much as the battle was one he wished not to fight, crippling Japan further would result in his leaders trying to frantically right the country while China might have hope of protecting his Korean siblings better.

The Cheshire cat grin in the sky smirked as madly as Kiku did now, raining upon them light void of any warmth, a spotlight on their play of swords and screaming regret.

Brazenly Kiku charged forward, a feral cry ripping from his throat. Their swords crashed together, Kiku suddenly inches away from Yao's face, pushing against Yao's sword with terrific force. The smirk widened and Kiku's face became even more twisted. Yao flicked his wrists and forced Kiku's katana to become lodged in the firm loam. Kiku's head canted and his eyes widened to unbelievably large ovals, his irises sinking into shining whites. He looked like an owl corrupted by toxic drugs.

Yanking his sword from the soil he flipped adroitly several feet away, skipping backwards a few steps. He twirled the katana once in his hand, lifting his legs high as he moved with exaggerated impetus to a place not very far from where Yao stood. China firmly held his ground and glared into Kiku's eyes. Becoming detached from all reason and means of strategy, Yao charged headlong for his younger "brother." Somewhere in the heavens, Sun Tzu was ripping his hair out and gesticulating madly at the battle that offended his teachings, completely disregarding the precincts of war he had drafted so carefully thousands of years earlier.

Their swords clashed together and Kiku leapt back, feinting, Kiku then falling to the ground, leaning on his back and whipping a leg full circle in an attempt to trip Yao. Yao easily predicted the poorly planned attack and jumped over the leg like it was merely a piece of twirling thread. However, as Yao leapt, Kiku's hands lunged for his leg and Yao was pulled to the hard ground, a cry of surprise sounding from the older nation. Kiku's hand pressed to his chest, pinning him, sword angled to Yao's jugular. The blade quavered and trembled and Yao could almost hear it whistle softly as it sliced the air.

Hot salty liquid suddenly stung his cheek and Yao blinked reflexively, shocked to see tears flowing unabated from Kiku's eyes that were almost squeezed shut. He could feel the weakness in Kiku's trembling hand, starkly different from before. Tears dripped down like drops of water from the points of stalactites onto Yao's face, mainly his cheeks. The contortion of madness was gone from his eyes and replaced with pitiable sadness.

His mouth wrinkled as he struggled to form coherent words. "Y-Yao-ge, p-please—"his voice hitched "—run away. I-I c-can't do this. I can't do this to you; please distance yourself from me," he pleaded, voice quavering like a leaf buffeted by a strong gale.

Yao's eyes softened the slightest, but were still hard from the years of war. He shook his head and picked up his sword, slowly lifting it parallel to Kiku's slender throat. The cold steel brushed against his neck and sent an unpleasant tingle up his spine.

"Become mad again, Kiku-di. This is war; not a time for apology or mercy~aru." Yao flipped them around, Kiku now the one trapped, Yao's sword aimed just like Kiku's had been. Kiku looked like a startled rabbit, mouth slightly ajar forming noiseless words. Yao pushed himself, flipping on a hand away from the earth-trodden young man. Kiku shot up and reaffixed his gaze to China, holding his sword tightly.

They paced in tandem in a circle, boots raking up tufts of charred grass, stirring mounds of amassing ashes. The robust flames continued their grand feast of wood and earthenware, watching with great interest the two duelists, exchanging commentary and gossip in the form of snaps and pops.

This time Yao was the first to strike his disheartened brother.

The broadsword traced an arc into the ashen sky, clanging resoundingly with Kiku's parry. They skittered and danced around each other like small cinders carried and swirled around by gentle breezes. Their swords touched and then withdrew briefly before they practically exploded together, sparks emanating from the points of grinding impact. Kiku, no longer driven by animalistic frenzy and was much more sane and reasonable, studying Yao's movements, anticipating any missteps and misjudgments.

For what seemed like an eternity they fought, blades touching and crashing together in cold exchanges. They were like Taijiquan, Yin and Yang: cold and fiery, weak and strong, mad and sane. They continued moving in this lapsing circle, deflecting and parrying blows like elegant Beta fish, rounding slowly and then moving inwards to attack or defend. As Sun Tzu wrote, attack comes from having perfect defense while defense comes from lack of attack power. And so they attacked and defended, short and long hair twisting and flowing in the wind and of their movements. For one moment, from above, they close and moving in such a way that Yao's hair caught much of the moonlight, blanching it white with a speck of black while Kiku's hair remained sable with one speck of white; for less than a second they were truly Yin and Yang.

The final blow was soon to be dealt.

Japan feinted from Yao's reach and sent his sword towards the back of Yao's wrist hoping to knock away his sword. He misjudged and his withdrawn slash cut deep into Yao's back, staining the tip with his vital blood.

Yao stopped. His sword dropped and his hands flew to his back, exploring the region he had been cut so deeply. His hand withdrew, now dripping with hot, sticky blood. He collapsed to his knees, hair floating delicately behind. His hands began to tremble and shake as if it had been subjected to severe electric shock.

This had to be a nightmare, China thought in denial. Yes, Japan was his enemy, but he was brainwashed into fighting. Government, Westernization, industrialization, loss of old traditional ways—this is why China refused to evolve with the rest the world. This is why he hated so many countries; why he hated England and France and so many others. He knew now he could trust almost no one. Trust Kiku? Of course not. No matter how they felt about the present he knew they were doomed to be enemies for a very long time.

Kiku had been hurt too, hurt like the Koreas, stolen away like Taiwan to the clutches of unpredictability and forced to fight like provoked pit bulls.

The pain was incredible; it was like the complete opposite of euphoria, a delicious pain that numbed his senses. A delightful numb that drove animals to mutilate their limbs in order to escape a trap, the same numb that made a man succumb more easily to death's hollow kiss.

Kiku collapsed to the ground, bizarrely fascinated by the amazing amount of blood that pooled around him and stained his clothes. He looked feebly at Yao and began to crawl like an ant over to Yao, stopping a meter away. Yao didn't acknowledge him.

Tears flowed heavily down his cheeks yet he felt no choking sensation or pressure; just an amazing numb feeling.

"…K-Kiku-di…I-I hate what you've become~aru. I hate it so much!"

Kiku's eyes began to blur. "I hate myself more than you can imagine."

"I hate what we've become…"Kiku coughed, raspy and laced with blood.

Yao retched slightly, red foam burbling from his lips. "Let us hate each other, together~aru."

Faces parallel, bodies curled close, they looked like Yin and Yang personified. They reached their hands out weakly and they touched, both trembling uncontrollably.

"Let us be enemies, you and I."

"Let us fight mercilessly~aru."

"Let us hate and love one another."

"Let us be at peace someday~aru."

"I would like that very much," Kiku finished as both nations slipped away into sweet unconsciousness.

* * *

Last thoughts: As I typed this, I kind of find it hard to write them as hating each while keeping this as a romance. I honestly have an amazingly hard time writing romance scenes, and I confess that chapter 2 was a bit of a challenge for me to make it both sweet but a little out of my comfort zone. I know that some ChinaxJapan authors might approach this more romantically and maybe even make it a cruel relationship, but it's impossible for me. Sex scenes are impossible for me…so that's why I tend to focus heavily on action and scenes of dialogue. I also like really artistic descriptions of things which explains the lengthiness of some things.

I realize now that some of you reading this may feel differently than I do. People can carry sentiments throughout their lives and pass it on. To those of you of Asian descent reading who know full well of your amazing legacies and the tragedy I am currently highlighting. I can't turn this story into one huge euphemism; I know full well that you may not like that. China, Japan, and many other countries who were embroiled in battles during these vastly moral-less times affected so many people in ways I could never imagine. I'm not perfect; this story would be impossible to write if I made it all fluff and rainbows when you deserve better. Please, if you decide to review, tell it to me straight. Tell me how you feel about these events in time and how it affected you. I'm assuming you weren't there to witness it in person but learning about it and from it can instill you with knowledge to move forward in the future. Another point I want to make is this: in this story the antagonists are the corrupt and power-mongering and the heroes are those who wish to see a better world. The government makes up a huge bulk of the antagonists while the people who resist and long for peace will be the heroes. Characters' roles will change as history goes on. History; his-story. His story (Yao and Kiku's) will not be perfect but I promise you that I will faithfully research history and keep my mind open. We live in a very open-minded time and I hope this story can remind you why. People sacrificed their lives, soldiers and civilians alike, to usher in this great age and we must do what we can to tear down walls and build bridges.

I hope this fanfiction is something different for you and maybe even a little unexpected. (Sorry for the epic babble but history does that to you.^^ That's why I love to learn it.) Speak you mind in your review(s) if you wish; I'm listening.


	6. 1,000 Words Cannot Say, 名誉の母

"_Do not conquer the world with force, for force only causes resistance. Thorns spring up when an army passes. Years of misery follow a great victory. Do only what needs to be done without using violence."_

"_Whoever can see through all fear will always be safe."_

-Dao De Jing, Laozi

* * *

"Mr. Honda?" came a voice in inquiry. Kiku's eyes fluttered open to find that a handsome sculpted face was looming over him, the person's long brown fringe just centimeters from brushing his cheek. Pulling himself forward from his brief repose, Kiku could see Greece more clearly now.

His full name was Heracles Karpusi, a tall man with a strong build and lengthened brown hair like mahogany that framed his strong, angular face. He was casually dressed in brown pants, a tee shirt, and an unzipped brown jacket that was ruffled by Parga's strong ocean breeze.

Kiku looked away from the sleepy form of Greece and soaked in the beautiful ocean view. He was perched precariously in an olive tree with and trunk and boughs like long hair twisted loosely. The leaves fluttered and chatted in the smooth breeze. Precariously the tree had grown on the precipice near the town, where the simple whitewashed homes of Parga, Greece were terraced into the sloping mountainside, clumped together cozily, shielded by the mountain yet exposed to the crystalline blue sea. A lively bay was leaden with the boats and ships of merchants to fishermen who went about their day, thinking locally without a care for the outside world. Many trees of various breeds crowned the top of the cliff where scraggly bushes and brave flowers clung to the sloping cliff side. He sighed as another breeze washed over him, taking with it another unpleasant feeling he had been feeling since the First Sino-Japanese War.

He had been napping in the chair-like crook of the great olive tree. She was a female tree, like Ai, who decided to name Athena. He had "met" Athena during his first day in Greece upon his arrival, feeling a connection similar but not as strong as Ai. She was old and wise, much like the daughter of Zeus. A kitten shared the spot as well, clinging to his chest and hiding beneath the arm his gently draped over the small feline.

The kitten mewed anxiously to its mother who was being held in Heracles' arms, causing Kiku to smile.

"Heracles-san, what are we going to next?" Kiku asked, wiping his eyes sleepily. Heracles smiled, offering a hand. Taking it, he pulled Kiku forward (the kitten leaping from his arms) and he practically flew from Athena's embrace and collided with Heracles. Blushing, he realized how close he was to the Greek man.

"Thank you," he said, averting Heracles' soft gaze. Affectionately, Heracles ruffled Kiku's hair like they were brothers.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, looked pointedly at where the scar hid beneath Kiku's unbound kimono and loose shirt. Kiku, too, wore casual slacks as per the Prime Minister of Japan's mandate.

Kiku put a hand to his side, a dull throbbing connecting with the contact, much like a woman feeling her unborn baby kick. He winced slightly, but was otherwise alright.

"I'm fine," Kiku insisted, forcing a reassuring yet fake smile. His eyes lingered to the sea and came up with an idea. "Let's go down to the docks. I've wanted to do some sketching but never got the opportunity," he said brightly, pointing like an excited child to the stone docks below, one in particular that was at a far end and free from any moored boats.

Heracles regarded him with slight suspicion, but nodded his consent. There was something his fellow nation was keeping from him.

* * *

Kiku glanced from his sketch pad to the seagull lazily floating in the water, letting the waves rock and move it. He grasped the charcoal tightly, dashing black across the paper in capturing the image of the sea bird. The crystal clear water, which delighted Kiku greatly, let him see the seafloor below and the distorted scales of sunlight sometimes revealed the scaly mail of fish below.

Heracles suddenly surfaced, wiping water away from his eyes and grasping the concrete block of a dock. A sharp intake of breath could be heard from Kiku as his eyes widened and his eyes locked onto a monster-sized fish hauled on the side of a small fishing vessel chugging drowsily into the inner bay, its scales reflected the sunlight like a hoard of gems and gold. Heracles caught sight of it and Kiku's enlarged eyes and erupted into laughter.

"What? You've never seen a fish that big before?" he said, pulling himself from the water and wrapping a towel around his neck.

"I've seen large salmon that my own people have caught but I didn't know such large fish existed elsewhere," Kiku shamefully admitted, calming down. "I haven't seen the world as much as other people have; I've been isolated from the world for so long. If I wasn't on military campaigns I was holed away and made to study subjects of war. I haven't even been to see my own people in the wake of Westernization for so long."

Greece scooted closer to Japan and put a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Honda is being isolated from the world truly the thing you are concerned about?" he said gently, gazing sidelong at the boyish nation.

"I'm a tool of war, Karpusi-san. That's all I've ever been since the ways of Europe were introduced to me. Conquest and power have been the only things on the minds of my superiors and the welfare of the people has not. I want to help, to liberate those who have suffered at their hand, to end their reign, and bring peace, but I am useless and powerless. What can I do but wait and fight?"

Greece shook his head and scratched it, ruffling his wet hair. "You blame yourself to much, Mr. Honda." Kiku wasn't shocked. Yes, he did constantly blame himself for many things, but it wasn't at all far from the truth. He couldn't stop the things his countrymen did and he could feel their collective feelings in many forms of negativity—avarice, lust, evil—throbbing through his mind and driving him mad.

"Have you ever felt feelings you know weren't your own; feelings that belonged to someone else?" ventured Kiku, glancing shyly at the huskier man, trying to hide his face with his sketch pad.

"As nations, we embody the values and thoughts of our people; we are the land as well, scarring to it appears on us and damage to our own bodies manifests on the land. We get colds during times of a bad economy and suffer as the people do, if not worse, during times of great strife. What the people think and feel we do as well. Mr. Honda that is why it is not your fault for the misdeeds of others. They are independent from your will and can only be swayed by their own accord."

Kiku nodded and resumed sketching. "You are very knowledgeable, Karpusi-san."

"Mr. Honda?"

"Yes?"

"Please call me Heracles."

Kiku smiled in modest acknowledgement. "I would like it if you called me Kiku as well, my friend."

"I will, Kiku." They smiled warmly at each other and before long Kiku had filled his sketchpad halfway with quick charcoal impersonations of many engrossing subjects. Heracles descended into a deep sleep, and kitten from seemingly nowhere scampered to Kiku, nuzzling the adorable island nation, then crawling on Heracles sun kissed chest and cuddling close, falling into a deep sleep on the Mediterranean-coasted nation.

* * *

For the rest of the day, Kiku and Heracles strolled together around the simple and pleasurable town, eating at a café by the sea on a terrace. They enjoyed native food that delighted Kiku while being memorized by the rolling turquoise sea. Japan had never seen so many wondrous things at once, not since America had come boldly into his harbors and demanded trading privileges with the archipelago.

They talked without reserve about their long histories, becoming melancholy at moments of pain and gregariously laughing at times of comic relief. Between sips of their drinks and gazes of longing out to the endless sea, they disclosed personal secrets, such a thing unknown to Japan. He wasn't one to pour out secrets like a flooding river but he just needed to release the things he'd kept bottled up for so long.

Yao.

Yao. Yao.

China. Yao. China.

That's what he descended into; rivers of emotion he had kept in line for so long ran erratic and wildly before the Greek nation, bursting with stinging eels and jellyfish. Greece got stung by these confessions, the atrocities and the heartbreak.

"Kiku…" he had no words. Heracles buried his face in his hands, breathing and sighing deeply. "What do you plan to do? You must hate, you have no choice. I've never encountered a problem like yours."

Kiku was motionless, silent as the Buddha himself.

"The world is vast, Heracles-san. I must learn to disobey the laws of the universe in order to make it to heaven."

"The universe is forever," Heracles countered, folding his arms, deep in philosophical thought.

"Then I will become a spirit. Watch me float away."

"Spirits have no form." Heracles' eyes closed as his mind became a kaleidoscope of images and words.

"Feelings have no form and yet you can feel them."

"Feelings can be rejected by those who do not wish to feel them. The emotionless have no emotion."

"Then they are not human."

_Like me, _Kiku thought.

* * *

The night before him was restless and refused to let him sleep. Kiku shifted in bed one way, turned another, and curled just so. Nothing could lull him to sleep. The sea lapping against dock and shore was just incessant voices urging for attention; the moon stared down upon him, staring moonbeams and daggers; and the breeze teased him like an annoying older brother.

Frustrated, Kiku shot up, giving a withering stare to the scenery that spanned before him that should've helped him get to sleep, not keep him from it. But he did have to admit that it was beautiful; the midnight sun was large tonight, unusually so, but its ethereal beauty enchanted him. The mirror of an ocean caught Tsuki's beautiful reflection, bending and distorting its image. A single ray of the moon's reflection touched shore while the rest made the white homes glow with a haunting beauty; even the cliffs surrounding the town seemed to sag a bit, sighing at the night's beautiful display. The air blowing through the open window by Kiku's bed was delicious and refreshing.

Kiku threw back the covers and when his feet touched ground he almost broke into a run, but restrained the urge to do so. That urge was answered and Kiku dashed from the down the hall and it being a one storey home made the escape that much easier. Throwing open the burly wooden door he sprinted and weaved through narrow streets, avoiding those up as late as he was. Heracles was out somewhere partying with his friends and wouldn't be back until much later, giving Kiku this golden opportunity. Finally slowing into a ragged walk, he stood on the beach that stretched a long ways, white under the glowing moon. The water lapped gently against the shore, enticing him to feel their wet caress.

"_My beloved son," _an omniscient voice spoke to him, obviously female but elegant and strong.

Kiku's head whirled around, but focused on a womanly form, back to moon, a silhouette in his eyes, standing on the horizon.

"Mother!" he cried out, voice rising into a desperate pitch. Eyes locked on to her, he ran headlong into the water, legs thrashing away great pressure and creating a stream of white in his wake. Soon his legs could no longer find purchase and he was forced to swim, laboring against the heavy white capped waves.

Gasping, exhaustion suddenly gripped him and something pulled him under. He took in one last breath before being dragged down indefinitely and he focused on finding the force that wanted his company beneath the dark waves. He bent downwards and inspected his legs, shocked to see seaweed in the form of a dense chain bind his legs. There was no way something natural and organic to suddenly become hard as steel, but maybe he had been wrong. For a few minutes his fingers explored the entrapment but could find no means of escape. Should he give up? No, his mother was here and waiting.

Suddenly a beautiful woman descended, ethereal and like a beacon of light beneath even the emotionless waves. She waved a heavily adorned hand over the seaweed, gold bangles glittering. The seaweed trembled like a small earthquake and retracted as rapidly as a stretched rubber band. Kiku, for a moment, floated like driftwood, unconscious of what happened around him and was very near to drowning.

Warm arms, a sanctuary to the war-wearied nation, wrapped around him and they shot up to the surface. He could feel them penetrate through the waves and make a break to the surface. Kiku coughed and sputtered salty seawater like dry tears, his eyes blinking rapidly away the painful sea.

He was being held like a baby, close and cherished. His arms encircled her neck and she held him all the more tighter. She walked above the water as if it was but bending and bulging glass, not even creating ripples or the sound of footfalls.

Finally coming to shore, she sank to her knees and sat on the white sand, loose white dress fanning around her and long sleeves fluttering like bird's wings. Kiku sat on her lap, head cradled in her arms. By now he had released her and was desperately trying to memorize her face, her voice, everything. Her almond eyes twinkled warmly and her red lips were pulled into a soft smile.

"_My son, you have been suffering, have you not?" _she inquired, stroking wet hair away from his cheek.

Tears sprang to Kiku's eyes, overwhelmed at seeing someone who had disappeared so long ago. "No, mother, I have been the one who has caused great suffering. My people, ones who once belonged to you, have suffered and have caused great strife. That is why I am responsible; they are my brothers and sisters and I failed to keep them in line. I love them, but I hate what they do so much!"

"_Humans hearts are easily corruptible, my dear. But do not blame them. All people are born innocent yet become corrupted by temptation and those around them. Someday you will find a way to right their wrongs."_

Kiku looked incredulously at her beautiful face, understanding her words yet wondering how such a thing would be possible. Resolve this alone? How?

"Please, mother, tell me how! I must know; any mistakes could bring disaster to many."

She turned her face to the sky, closing her eyes. She was like this for a moment and then turned to look down at Kiku. She touched his face with a soothing hand.

"_Nothing I can say will immediately remedy this. You will find the answers as the problems you are faced with when they bare their teeth and lunge. At the present moment these problems are quelled, if not iced over." _She kissed his hair. "_I'm sorry, my son, that I cannot alleviate your problems. Please know that I am always here and that I love you very much. These problems you are faced with are difficult, but they are not for eternity."_

Slowly she rose and Kiku pulled himself into a sitting position, saddened that he couldn't be closer to her for just awhile more. He craned his head to face her, hair still damp from the near-death experience.

She offered her hand, pallid as the shining moon, and he took it, feeling rejuvenated once again. They stood facing one another, her clothes and hair billowing in a non-existent wind. He felt so small standing before the woman who brought him into the world, even more so than he had with Yao.

"There's someone I must protect, mother, but he and I are enemies and I must harm him. I wish to end all conflict between us, but I cannot." His head shamefully fell at the realization; he really did have no choice.

"_Yao Wong is a powerful young country, but he is not invincible. He will find alliances in people he may not wish to, but he will have no choice if he is to survive future onslaught. You will understand when the time comes."_

She embraced him warmly, sending Kiku to heaven, feeling as if he were the same celestial being his mother was now. "Thank you, mother; I love you and pray for you," Kiku said, as they broke apart. "Please, will you intervene when the need arises?"

"_I promise that I will give you dreams to inspire you, my son. I will protect you however I can, but now you must sleep." _She kissed his hair again and Kiku felt heaviness settle in his eyes and limbs and she supported him as he slowly sank to the ground, falling into a sweet sleep.

* * *

One month later, Japan was torn away from his brief respite in Greece, having enjoyed spending time with a nation who was beginning to understand him well. Kiku knew that another war was on the horizon, but with the beautiful calm his mother's omniscient presence brought him and new friend waiting overseas, he felt the burden of loneliness relieved just the slightest.

* * *

Last thoughts: I honestly didn't think this chapter would turn out like this. It began slow but then picked up speed when I came up with idea for Japan's mother (who is she?!) to appear. I was inspired by a scene in Inu-Yasha when a phantom version of his mother betrayed him under the service of Sesshomaru as well as near to the end of Ponyo; Rome-ji-chan played a little part as well. By the way, this takes place in 1899 when Japan and Greece first began their relations with each other.

I purposefully had Japan and Greece engage in their little philosophical-a-thon just to explain my feelings about the nations of Hetalia to point the dagger even more to the true antagonists. I came up with a shocking (but I think good) idea for after WWII which you'll read about once I get the chapters up. I do know that the War of Resistance Against Japan might be the longest arc. I'm also thinking of shortening future chapters to a more easily digestible 2,000. It really depends, though.

You what's coming up right? That's right, it's time for the Russo-Japanese War; enter Mother Russia! If you really want some Russia/China hints, I guess you'll be finally getting it. I know they're really popular as a couple…but…Russia's too yandere for me. (hides) I'm thinking of softening him down a bit and show you the Russia who loves sunflowers and wants to live in a place with warm weather. (smiles) Don't worry; you'll get plenty of "KOLKOLKOL" Russia too. (is scared)

I highly recommend listening to "Last Night, Good Night", the Hatsune Mikuo version to get the mood I was hoping to project between Japan and his mother. …I'm also wondering...Is this story slipping into fantasy? If so, should I change the theme? As always, review and tell me what you think so far.^^


	7. PRussia: Pawning Russia, мое сокровище н

"Immature love says: 'I love you because I need you.'  
Mature love says: 'I need you because I love you.'"

-Erich Fromm

"It's a journey. **Peace** is something you do on a moment-by-moment basis."

-Sam Baez

* * *

Something awoke the MIGHTIEST and LARGEST country in the world.

Someone was DEMANDING the attention of General's Winter's prey.

Someone _DARE _disturb the only time of calm for the mighty Russia.

Ivan Briganski growled richly, like some feral ANIMAL, lifting his head to just GLARE at the reticent little WEAKLING who stood, hunkering, over the threshold into Russia's room. Toris's hands were clasped together, as if in prayer, his medium-length brown hair MATTED with a COLD sweat. His green uniform was OLD and UGLY from years of use, Ivan observed.

The room was a beautiful one, a large bed skirted by fine silks from CHINA and covered with handmade quilts LABORED upon by village women living nearby in Moscow, the capital city of RUSSIA. The high ceilings had elegant moldings of FLOWERS while RICH and colorful tapestries with scenes from myth and LEGEND. The wood floors showed signs of DEEP treading with hardy boots, namely Russia's. Other furnishings included a dresser and end table BURIED deeper in old vodka bottles than a crowded CEMETARY with numerous, CORRUPTED, bodies. A feeble LIGHT from a dilapidated chandelier sent CROOKED shadows behind obstructions and BENT it on anything made of glass or of shining lacquer.

Russia rose from the bed, sheets practically FLEEING from his skin, FORCED to protect a master who was CRUEL and CHILDISH. He delighted in that SADISTIC thought, mind TWISTING into a CONTORTED smile. And yet his face was innocent as a CHILD'S, eyes mocking delight and smile like a simple man's who was OBLIVIOUS to the world around him.

The only thing COVERING Russia now was his usual pants and ever-present scarf, the scarf that COILED his neck like a snake patiently anticipating its next PREY. The snake eyed LITHUANIA greedily, metaphorical tongue sliding in and out, SENSING the nation's bated breath and WIDE eyes locked to the predator's. Russia's boots made old floors CREAK under his massive body, sending chills up and down the smaller man's mind.

"Toris," Russia said simply, nearing the FEEBLE nation with a malevolent aura at his side. Toris took a NERVOUS step back, gulping loudly in his throat.

"M-Mr. B-Brigans-ski," began Lithuania, bringing his hands into PRAYER again. Russia ignored the PLEA in his voice, begging for distance. His arm encircled the SMALLER man's waist, trapping him against the wall. Russia released his waist and RELISHED this moment, one of many that sustained his thirst for power and DOMINANCE.

Hands CLAWING the walls with softened talons Toris was now trapped, TERRIFIED. Russia stroked his cheek, like he actually CHERISHED Toris; how laughable. "My, neighbor, Toris, you know of him, da?"

A stroke. A skipped BEAT. A throbbing wound of old. "Do you speak of Wang Yao, Mr. Briganski?" he ventured; strongly, TOO strongly for Russia's tastes.

"Da. China is both strong and weak; he is perfection." Toris had never met China, but any country on Russia's RADAR was in for a relationship filled with tumult.

Russia released his CAGE around Toris, not before whispering into his ear: "He will be mine, da? Just as you came as easily into my house. I will turn him into something beautiful." Toris shuddered, eyes reflexively closing shut as the sharp sting of his alcohol-scented breath washed over him like a SWARM of bees.

Russia moved away, turning his back dismissively to Liet, who raised his voice in a forced crescendo. "Mr. B-Briganski." Ah, the JOYOUS stutter in his voice, the rise and SPLENDID fall of courage. "Mr. Honda, Japan, will be here shortly for the negotiations over territory in China, just as you requested." Toris quickly fled from the room, unwilling to BEAR the overwhelming pressure of Russia's melancholic presence. And so the hare retreated from the snake.

Ivan collapsed on his bed again, clutching the nervous covers in now delicate hands, staring out at the OVERBEARING squalls of snow and the lances of ice obscuring his view with distorted colors and shapes bent into circular forms. His eyes became filled with loneliness and he reached into a secret pocket of sorts in his scarf, pulling from it a pressed sunflower petal, something Lithuania had given him LONG ago before his spiral into insanity. It was young when it was plucked, but now old and looked like crinkled parchment, wrinkling and beginning to tear.

"China, once I make you beautiful, we'll plant sunflowers, da? Somewhere warm—"he said to the air, voice breaking.

* * *

Only the mad dared to venture within the hell that was Russia. It was common knowledge among nations, albeit unspoken, that the veneer of the land reflected the turmoil or prosperity of the nation's mind. It was clear to Japan that Ivan's mind was as disturbed as it was famously gossiped.

It was now 1904, two years after the signing of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance. The winters were cold, for sure, but here in Russia they were intensified and hit with cruel accuracy in the infant days of January. Given no time to celebrate the Western New Year, Kiku was sent on his way on a ship and then various other modes of transportation ranging from trucks to horses to mules and so many things in between. They were of no luxurious states and Kiku was forced to travel alone in the old tradition of frugality.

Even now he was seated on the back of a draft horse with a thick hide and long fringe. He rode over a rocky hill and crested it, looking down at the stately abode of Russia, large and of a lost architecture, situated between hordes of mountains and foothills drowning in the white veil of snow. The gray sky loomed ominously over him and his steed, snow fleeing from those clouds and nestling, huddling, close together on the ground.

Gathering the reins a little tighter in his trembling hands bitten by the stark lack of heat, he urged his mount, saddled with what little luggage and rations he had brought from the last town he had habited, on towards the place where the snow danced in eternally around the eaves and spires of Russia's home. The horse broke into a tired trot, Japan like a sack of grain whose weight was like a feather on stone. It was a miracle Japan managed to stay put on its great girth and that the farm animal responded at all.

Stables in the back were what Japan aimed his horse to, its hooves no longer muffled by snow and resounding loudly off cobbled stone grooved by ice. A young boy, dressed thinly and trembling madly, rushed over to the expected guest of sorts and took the equine's reins, holding it still as Japan pulled his feet from the worn stirrups. He slumped over the saddle for a minute before collapsing heavily with the ground, eliciting a concerned gasp from the youth. Kiku rose slowly, shocked that he couldn't even feel the pain. Shaking his head, he trudged through the snow and to the front door, plagued by fear. The thick fur lined coat he wore was old and drenched, dyed white by amassing snow as was the massive scarf and artisans' hat. He wore no gloves but the long sleeves seemed to remedy that and the fur trimmed boots, though falling apart, seemed to be holding up fairly well.

He gulped deeply and knocked faintly, wondering if anyone would be able to hear his soft raps on the ornate and imposing wood door.

It began to swing open, Russia standing within, gulping deeply and with great swill the bottle of vodka, ever present, ever there. It seemed as though his blood was vodka; all Kiku could smell was the overwhelming scent of the liquor. It looked as though he was choking the neck of the clear bottle, large hand white from lack of circulation.

Lowering the bottle, he regarded Kiku as an INFERIOR, mouth pulling into a smirk in the semblance of his simple smile. "Kiku Honda, da?" he intoned, small wrist movements swirling the alcoholic liquid in its clear cage.

Kiku took a step forward, looking downwards to guide his feet better before looking back up at the looming man. He bowed deeply, ignoring internal pleas to run.

"Greetings, Mr. Briganski. I am here as per your request." Russia's eyes widened in DELIGHT; he liked the subservient ways of his guest already.

Russia looked around him before taking Kiku's hand suddenly and pulling him in. The boyish yet more ELDERLY nation was trembling from a cold Russia was so ACCUSTOMED to.

Before Kiku had time to react, Russia pulled him close, TRAPPING Kiku with great arms, hands at the small of his tiny back and binding him there. There was little affection in that gesture, rather a REMINDER in the friendliest fashion who held more power in their hands. Japan, as were all of the other countries, going to UNITE with Russia and become ONE with him anyway. Father Russia must be kind and FIRM to all his future CHILDREN, must he not?

Kiku refused to protest, lest he anger the larger nation. At over 180 cm, Kiku was in no position to fight or refuse him. Anyway, this felt cold and indifferent, completely unlike what Yao-ge had showered upon him years earlier.

It's been six or seven years, hasn't it? He sighed softly, just the slightest release of breath. Even in the arms of the maniac Russia, the lead in his heart could only be removed by one person, impairing his ability to rationalize the situation. His memory teased him, the sound of Yao's beautiful voice soothing him as his mother's had about five years earlier.

He was in no danger. Ivan knew that Japan was here for relatively passive reasons, no guns or shuriken shoved in his sleeves or pockets.

Ivan sighed as well, RELEASING his unresponsive prisoner. "Something is the matter, мой пленник, da_?" _Russia questioned. Yes, once he FINDS the source of the problem he can store it away for reference as BLACKMAIL towards the little chain of islands. He laughed inwardly at how he could call Japan "my prisoner" in his tongue and have the country be completely DENSE about it.

Ivan closed the door softly and led Kiku into the living room where Ivan proceeded to sit on an old recliner that heaved a groan as he did so. Kiku sat quietly on the couch opposite him, hands resting on his lap. By now he had shorn his coat and boots out of respect, eyes studying his wet socks intently.

"You know of how a nation has two consciousnesses, that of the people and your own?" Kiku glanced fleetingly at Russia's piercing amethyst gaze but then retreated.

"Da. That is why…I act unusually at some times, мышка." Russia said, twiddling his thumbs, ACTING insecure. Talk, little mouse; tell FATHER Russia your secrets.

Japan's mouth twitched upwards, than settled back into a contemplating frown.

"Several years ago, I visited one of my closest neighbors, the Middle Kingdom. He's a very kind and unwaveringly steadfast country; he hides a strength that you wouldn't believe existed. He's like a dragon of New Year's, richly colored and carries himself with such confidence."

Russia's skin BOILED with excitement; so, China was as perfect as he remembered!

Japan continued, "But as of late, when my countrymen began to embrace new and strange ways, something changed. My consciousness battled with that of the people; dominance, dominance! it urged. I grew weary and fearful of those thoughts, disturbed by horrifying dreams of malevolent intent that racked me with guilt. I, myself, as an individual, wish for only peace. And for peace can only be obtained through obedience, at least in my eyes. I must obey my superiors; it is ingrained within my cells, my very being. But when it comes to by neighbors, China, Taiwan, the Koreas, the rest of my 'family', I cannot obey if it means bringing harm upon any of them. You know, after my GeGe, I am one of the eldest of the Asian nations. I'm not sure of how my people think of such a thing, but as my own person I must protect them all."

Russia studied his HANDS, the hands who would one day hold the world. Yes, he did agree. But he was a double agent, listening to Japan with equal understanding, the other SIDE compiling all his fears he had garnered from the fellow nation so far. What FUN this all was.

"I feel the same towards my sisters, Ukraine and Belarus, мышка. I care for them very much, but my older sister Ukraine…she's been acting strange lately. And Belarus…I care for her as well, but—"I'm_ terrified of her. _Russia wanted to finish, but he knew better than to reveal his secrets. "—she's been very troubled as well, da." TROUBLED? She was as insane as he was if not worse. Well, at least she WANTED to join with him.

Ivan's eyes softened. Perhaps…even though they were bitter enemies, they did have more in common than he thought.

No, for the moment they were ENEMIES and it would be to be that way. Besides, this annoying BOY stood in the way of him obtaining the lovely jade treasure that was Wang Yao.

Ivan rose to stand, Kiku moving with similar impetus. Ivan moved uncomfortably close to Kiku, unnerving the young-looking man. He bent down to whisper: "Thank you for telling me so many interesting things, Honda Kiku. You look quite tired; would like to rest?" He hissed for emphasis, making Kiku recoil, startling him like the little MOUSE he was.

Kiku, feeling beads of sweat gather like dew on his brow, replied meekly, "N-No, I assure you, I am quite fine. I t-thought we should get to the matter at hand…" Ivan loomed over him, menacing as a bristling feline was to a quivering mouse.

Kiku let loose a gasping cry, brows furrowing deeply and eyes squeezing closed. Ivan's clenched fist sunk deep into Kiku's gut, Nihon doubling over in pain. The organs were crushed back like a pregnant woman and an indescribable pain, almost equal to the dirk wound from ten years before, shot through his body and numbed his mind. His mind shut down and he blacked out, sinking to the ground, not before Ivan caught him on one arm like a towel.

"You really shouldn't have gotten so close to моя любимая дорогая. He's mine now; you have no right to be involved in his life anymore, da? Why don't I put you somewhere safe, моя куколка?"

* * *

The night was blooming beautifully. Stars could be seen through the crisp winter air, winking down to the mortals and nations below. The snow had finally settled for the night, as tight and snug as a choking embrace. Everything was unnervingly quiet; not a voice could be heard in the suffocating and winding hallways of his home; a place not even North Italy's cheerful disposition could fill. Even Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia all confessed to getting disoriented within the maze of hallways and rooms.

One room in particular, untouched by all but him, was the hardest to find. It was the largest in the house; it was a small greenhouse. Resplendent flora of many breeds and types grew from pungent roses to sprigs of holly and tendrils of tender honeysuckle. It was a cacophony of color and scent, sweet drowning and clashing violently with the worse-off smelling breeds. The ceiling was dappled glass, opaque in places, sunlight intensified and shining brightly. The flowers and high growing palms grew in flourish, teardrop leaves of a North American tree nourishing itself next to a palm of South American clime. The ceilings must have been at least several meters tall, the tallest of the trees making their home there. So many colors clamored for their master's attention; ravishing pinks and delightful blonde tulips who giggled shyly, wise old trees raised their brows in question over suffused smiles, and so many other varieties that burst out in scented song gaily.

In the center, cleared away from the crowding plants, was a grassy courtyard inlaid with stone. A large fountain in its center, instead of pipes sending sprays of misty water, held a single basin where water overflowed. A pot just above, a single, simple pot, held the room's only sunflower; it was the sun of the greenhouse, giving cheerful emotions to the rest of the plants and was the source of their, and his, joy. Its petals were never unsettled by the wind except for the few bees and other small animals vital to every organic thing's survival. The small goldfish swimming happily in the sparkling waters of the pond owed their existence to that one sunflower. There was another reason for the garden's creation. It was symbolic; he was the sunflower and all of the other flora from every country were his happy, devoted children.

Ivan walked stepped through the small tunnel of overhanging branches and vines, delighted by the sight of his guest. Slumped in a chair, comatose thanks to Barbiturate acid (perhaps he owed Germany his thanks?), was Kiku. However, he looked unnatural, extremely so.

His lips were bee-stung plump, full and shining (thanks to cosmetics he borrowed from his sister Belarus without her permission), and his skin was pallid and had the afterglow of making love, although Kiku was assuredly untouched, and his eyes locked in a soulless stare with an invisible rival. His eyelashes were lengthy and feminine, purple dusting on his eyelids. He was now dressed in the woman's dress (called a kimono, da?), loosely bound in a low V, a deliciously seductive additive. Kiku was now beautiful, no longer a nuisance and no longer of any use to the outside world. Perhaps Nihon (a curious rendition of the normal pronounciation) might even become his first daughter (with China as his demure wife). However, he knew it wouldn't last. Manchuria and the Koreas would be wrested from Nihon's bosses' control and safe within FATHER Russia's arms. He wondered why Japan's bosses wished to bestow upon him a Western name. He liked his children to retain their original names.

The letter containing the threat message of Japan's hostage in Russia had been sent out several weeks ago and was soon due to be received by some foreign affairs officials in Tokyo (Kiku had been comatose for a few weeks now). Tokyo; it rolled so nicely off the tongue, sounding frail and fragile compared to the masculinity of Moscow.

Ivan sauntered over to where Japan demurely sat in his rickety wooden chair, a halo of artificial light on his Payne's gray hair, giving a more ethereal glow to his already radiant skin.

"Ah, моя куколка, it's been far too long since I've seen you last. I've been busy, busy," Ivan laughed softly, taking a long dreg from his vodka, as usual. "What have you been doing? Have you been looking after the flowers well? Da, that is very good." For the next few minutes Russia ignited in a one-sided conversation with the despondent and comatose young nation, getting no responses but inventing many lively questions of his own.

Swirling the neck of the bottle and the liquor swishing inside, Russia came up with a curious idea. He knew that Kiku could still swallow and breathe; he was just a bit vegetative, that was all. Taking in another long dreg, Ivan sat down. The liquid still in his mouth, he leaned over and cupped Kiku's cheek in his hand and pressed his lips firmly against plump ones, mouth-to-mouth. Once the vodka was in Nihon's mouth, Ivan kept his lips to Kiku's until the barely aware Kiku swallowed instinctively. He pulled away, laughing loudly at the tears forming in Kiku's eyes, scaring away small birds that made their home there.

Japan obviously wasn't much of a drinker and it seemed as if this was his first time drinking anything that had such high alcohol content. "It's strange, моя куколка, but I think I shall come to miss you when моя любимая дорогая comes and replaces you. But don't worry; I will make you bleed beautifully very soon. There's a war that's going to start between you and I; please look forward to it."

A loud rapping interrupted them, and Ivan turned his head, smiling delightfully.

"Ah, моя любимая дорогая is here."

* * *

Last thoughts: If you look on Wikipedia the article for the Russo-Japanese War, you will find that it almost seems to be unprovoked. Japan began the attack on Port Arthur just a few days or so before the official declaration of war. I'm pretty sure that if ambassadors were sent to Russia to make such delegations, it probably would've proved futile, I guess you could take Japan's being made into a doll (the character) as a form of symbolism. Futile negotiating=deadly results. And I know that Japan/Russia is an extremely rare couple, I thought it might be fun to try something new. Although tensions between Japan and Russia are still extremely strained, I read that Japan has provided a little aid to Russia (in the future). I'm thinking as focusing more on Russia/China in the next few chapters since they're a really popular couple (albeit not this story's focus).

Another thing I wanted to emphasis on the nations on this story: the separation of the character nations and their people. Hetalia nations in fanfics are often used to metaphorically describe historical events (I guess you all know what the Rape of Nanking is metaphorically described as…-shudder-) while in this story there is a distinction between the two, kind of like how the nations (in this story) have two consciousnesses (the peoples' and their own independent minds). I think that assuming the nations act based upon the people's thoughts is a little flawed since every person on this planet has a dynamic way of thinking that is extremely different from the next. Realistically, all the nations would all be insane, more so than Russia is now! Bleh, I'll shut up now…

I felt this chapter was a little weak…I'll do better on the next chapter, I promise! I know I promised to keep this chapter short…sorry. By the way, I'll be away on Spring Break and way not be able to write new chapters for a week or more. Please review! Thank you!


	8. Winter Seduction, дорогой

"Seduce my mind and you can have my body, find my soul and I'm yours forever..."

-Anonymous

"Love that we cannot have is the one that lasts the longest, hurts the deepest and feels the strongest..."

-Unknown

* * *

Yao traversed the deep and winding hallways, dodging around stray furniture and precariously hung picture frames of many imposing leaders of Russia's past. He was here to help formulate a new plan for improving industry within his budding modernization. He was reluctant to pull forward in such endeavors because of his views of Westernization were shaky and mistrustful. Most of all he needed to protect his people from their large cannons and weapons like a raging Asian Lung, a dragon like a snake often seen in depictions of legend.

Glancing down at his scrawled map (courtesy of a shaking and trembling Lithuania), China took a left, nearly bumping into a large sculpture of a rearing horse, mane and tail like tongues of flame. Skirting around it, he muttered a soft apology to the inanimate object.

In a dark hallway, like one of many in the house-palace, he could hear sounds ricocheting off the walls and rebounding like the crystalline ringing of a crystal-crafted glass whose rim was being swirled by a bored young lady. Eyes filled with bubbling excitement at seeing someone who would treat him as an equal and not as a piece of unclaimed territory. Aside from Japan, he was viewed by all the other Westernized nations as an antique that was too busy working in the rice patties to concern himself with the rest of the self-absorbed world.

Knocking softly, he waited, yet his nose caught the scent of many enchanting perfumes, organic, which obviously meant flowers and other beautiful flora. He sighed happily, feeling such relaxation after so long. Not since— No, don't go there. Not now. Japan—the person he longed to see most—was out of life for now. Things were too perilous, too dangerous, for them to be together.

And yet loneliness clawed at his heart like hunger to a starving child's stomach. It was incessant; he wanted to be held, wanted someone to hold. He wanted to be cherished, he wanted to be caressed and tenderly kissed. He wanted someone to reciprocate those actions and emotions, someone to chide him when he did something wrong, someone to smile softly when he did good. He needed a sturdy wall of any height, and he wanted to be stalwart enough to be that wall's Janus. He wanted to shushed and held in times of loud sadness and to do the same. Japan was that person he longed for yet…his heart was so wounded he was ready to proffer it to the kindest bidder. Did that make him fickle? Perhaps. If only Japan wasn't his enemy, instead his friend and more.

The door swung open and a profusion of sweet scents bombarded him in their blissful potpourri. Russia stood in the doorway, eyes and smiles so soft China's heart melted. His coat and scarf were still there, but warm, expectant hands were free from their usual gloves and looked so tempting to hold. China took a hand, basking in its heat. Russia's fingers curled around Yao's delicately, pulling him inside this rainbow of a sanctuary.

"Wang Yao," Ivan mouthed, his lips moving just barely, a sweet breeze in Yao's ever-ringing ears. It was like a sigh, only less heartrending and more like ringing bells.

The door closed behind them and Ivan let go of Yao's hand reluctantly, watching endearingly as China excitedly flitted from flower to flower like an emerald hummingbird. He peered curiously in one place Ivan wished not for Yao to see and directed his attention to the burbling fountain which he immediately took delight in.

"It's gorgeous here~aru!" Yao cried exuberantly, feeling happier than he had in the longest of times. He turned to face Ivan who stooped down low to look at the jolly goldfish swimming.

"I had you in mind when I had this place constructed. You like it, da?" Ivan questioned, his fingers innocently brushing the surface of the pool, ripples scaring away the shining fish. He looked at China with an intense, yet pleasant gaze, eliciting a blush from the much older nation.

China rolled his eye upwards, pretending that something aloft had caught his gaze, but then it floated back down to earth and was once again snagged by those amethyst eyes. How did Russia hold his gaze so well?

Like melting butter he smiled, saying, "Aiya, I really do have a wonderful neighbor. You're so thoughtful~aru."

To this Ivan stood, offering his hand again. Yao took it without hesitation, his heart craving for more. He was brought upwards like a launched firecracker, which Yao could tell was because of his neighbor's great strength.

"Yao…" Ivan whispered, pulling Yao's wrist past his waist and Yao closer to him. He closed his arms around the Asian man and held China in way that enraptured the immortal. China didn't reciprocate, at first, but then his arms moved slowly, like turtles, to the base of Ivan's spine. Loneliness, you traitor!

Yao turned his head to the side, resting against the muscular chest, warm and fevering.

Both blushed, but one more so than the immortal.

Russia could no longer hold back. Saying Yao's name again, Yao looked up and could see Ivan's lips making a swift descent to his. Ivan bent down considerably, nearly hunched over, as he kissed Yao tenderly. Yao resisted strongly at first, alarmed and shocked, but his alarm gave way to the newly ignited flame within, it burning hot and high. His eyes sank closed and his arms moved to Ivan's chest, pulling the large coat towards him and urging Ivan to deepen their contact of moist flesh.

Ivan's eyes burst open, surprised at Yao. Was this one of his hidden strengths? If so, then they did have so much more in common than he first believed. Ivan reacted just as Yao wanted, more forcibly and with more passion. Yao resisted, though, kissing back relentlessly.

Ivan took several teetering steps forward, feeling Yao snicker giddily in his throat, pulling away just centimeters before they collided with the ground, Yao turning just so to affect their landing. Contact resumed and deepened, Yao on top, which didn't please Russia too much, but could rectify quickly. He had never had someone do this to him so confidently.

He flipped them over, Yao growling deeply at his dissatisfaction at their sudden parting. Just as harshly as they had collapsed to the ground Yao pulled Ivan fiercely towards him, hands clenching painfully the Russian's coat, eager to show how much power had been building up for thousands of years. Playing Mother Goose for so long did have some downfalls.

Flashes of Kiku sprang into his muddled mind, but Yao pushed them away guiltily. Go away, he thought, not now. Not when I'm in the middle of this…

A snake kiss flourished between them, warm and full of lust. Yao aggressively put a hand to Ivan's head to keep him trapped, and was met with no resistance. The Chinese man kissed harder, much more strongly, out of wanting, desiring, CRAVING. It was consuming him and before he knew it his hands were tracing Ivan's chest, causing the Russian to shudder madly, Yao readying himself to remove to heavy coat. One of the Russian's eyes quirked open, studying his assertive partner. Yao was being consumed by a greedy lust, much to his alarm.

"Моя любимая дорогая!"

Yao snapped from it, brows furrowed in frustration. Russia had pulled away suddenly, giving a reproachful look and frowning. China tried to lift himself to resume their make-out session but Russia put a hand to Yao's lips, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Моя любимая дорогая," he repeated, this time more softly. He sprung to his knees, creating an unpleasant draft as he did. Standing, he raked his hands through his hair and averted Yao's strong gaze. Walking around the perimeter of the fountain he looked to be deep in thought.

"You traveled long, da? I shall get you food, da?" Yao's cheeks heated and he frowned indignantly, glaring like a child who was refused to chance for sweets. _What were we doing not even a minute ago and here you suddenly decide to ask if I'm hungry?! _Yao's mind demanded in a high-pitched squeak. His stomach rumbled loudly and Yao blushed even further, angry at his traitor of a stomach. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

He shot up into a seated position and clutched at his stomach, glaring daggers at Russia who had made his escape from the exquisite gardens.

Standing up and brushing himself of any debris from the grass, Yao sighed deeply.

What in all the levels of hell was wrong with him? How dare he suddenly betray Kiku for such selfish purposes? If Kiku were here, Yao knew, he'd be staring at his GeGe with the most shocked, hurt, and betrayed expression Yao could ever imagine.

China began berating himself, bashing his head with his stinging slaps, but the effect was actually quite comedic had there been any bystanders. But, nay, there were only the laughing flowers and chastising trees.

_Well, if your lovely little brother wasn't so reserved this wouldn't be a problem, _hissed a snake coiled in a deep recess in his mind. That statement was a throwback to when Kiku, hesitant as an indoor cat shoved outdoors, had visited a few years after the First Sino-Japanese War and Yao had first made his move on the boyish nation.

_You're such a passionate man; it's not your fault! You've been bottling up something so natural as the desire to be loved that this happened. You just have to be more careful, _one of Buddha's many angels piped up, defending such a scandalous issue.

_He betrayed the one who loves him, _snickered the serpent, its tail twitching in an amused fashion.

ENOUGH! Yao's dominant consciousness boomed, causing the snake to retreat and the angel to flee in tears. His head hurt; what should he do now?

A piece of lilac purple fabric caught Yao's eye and he stooped to the ground, eye tracing its path in the irregular coverage of flora and dangling vines. Pushing away the vines, curious, he peered through. What he saw made him fall ungracefully on his backside, breath hitched in his throat and hand flying to his mouth.

Kiku sat, leaned against the protective limbs of tree, forming a protective embrace. Why was Kiku here? This tree seemed to dislike Yao's presence as the eldest of many felt his hairs on his neck bristle. But that wasn't just it.

Kiku was dressed in one of his kimonos, done incorrectly by someone unfamiliar with the Japanese garment. Yao blushed furiously as he gazed upon Kiku's beautiful face, skin like a healthy afterglow, his lips plump and glossed over and moist. His eyes were huge, framed by long eyelashes and delicate purple shadow, his hair framing his face softly. The kimono was strewn open, exposing his small chest and glowing skin. He was poised and seated daintily, but Yao could tell that he was in a waking sleep. But was most alarming of all was the fact that rivulets of tears streamed down his face, reflecting the dappled sunlight.

So he had seen. There was nothing to be done now. It had happened; he had seen; Yao had betrayed.

"Kiku, I"—tears, unbidden—"I was weak! Something consumed me! I'm so sorry! I gave in and I'm so sorry; I made a mistake!"

_Punish me as you see fit!_

Those words echoed loudly in his mind, words that Kiku had said so many years before.

_I am the dirt you tread upon._

"No, Kiku, I could never be like that!" Yao practically crawled over to Kiku.

Lifting the featherweight nation (why was he so thin?), Yao rested him on his lap. He cuddled his beautiful "neighbor" close, wiping away the ugly tears. In the dome of the tree he felt safe, like he wasn't in Russia's scary home.

Yao gazed lovingly, sadly, at Kiku, remembering their promise from that last, disgusting battle.

They were enemies, but there were a few precious moments when they might—

Yao kissed Kiku tenderly, this one full of love and warmth, completely unlike what he had been like with Russia. Kiku's lips smelled and tasted like cherry blossoms, chilling Yao in such a pleasurable way.

Resting Kiku's head on the soft grass, Yao loomed protectively over the boy, kissing so deeply and passionately that he might lose himself again. He lifted his head briefly for many breaths, kissing in an endless cycle.

_I'm so sorry; please forgive me._

* * *

Last thoughts: Hmmm… I lied, didn't I? Okay, this will be the final chapter this week. For those of you who thought I might be little more predictable, guess again! See? You can't trust me! (Although I do tend to publish chapters at night.)

Ah, yes, by the way, it turned out that from 1903-4 there had been negotiations between Japan and Russia over Manchuria and North Korea that never got settled and proved futile. Imperialist Japan seemed resolved to fight for dominance in China and that was that. Symbolically Kiku's turning into a human doll seemed to epitomize that.

So, all you Russia/China fans, did I make you happy? I thought I might have a broad range of couple hints just for fun. Honestly, this chapter and the last have little historical facts (I'm pretty sure there weren't many greenhouses in Russia, but I may be wrong…), but the focus is mainly romance, so yeah. When Ivan stopped Yao (what did adorable Yao had in mind?!) I kind of came to my limit. A little out of my comfort range, but I think I'm gathering more courage to write this a little better (romance-wise).

I honestly think Yao made a mistake. Lots of men who cheat on their girlfriends/wives oftentimes feel remorse afterwards to try to get mercy from their loves. That's what Yao was trying to do as well. He's just really lonely, always in pain, and suffering immensely during this time in history. I wanted to give him a break, even if that means making out with the scariest nation (evah!) and then with his comatose dolly brother-of-sorts. (Note that I don't like to call them brothers because that kind of seems to denote incest to me…) By the way, the inspiration for this came from Kaori Yuki's Godchild when Cain's little sister is kidnapped by this crazy girl named Rebecca who turns the remains of the dead into lifelike dolls of her victims. But one person, Mary Weather's private tutor, is turned into a human doll. When I remembered that I thought it might be a fun plot twist.

Ehem…anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Look out for more!


	9. My Lovely Dear, моя жена

"One of the hardest things in life is watching the person you love, love someone else."

-Unknown

"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."

-Mother Theresa

* * *

Was this all a dream? He didn't want to wake up. Ever.

It was warm; there were no wars.

Maybe he could pretend that he was young again, small as a toddler yet several times as old.

He could be relentlessly teased by South Korea for being the leader of "the emo trio", Hong Kong, North Korea, and himself. China would stride forward and chastise the goofy Korean, than be engulfed in a hug, eagerly urging his "children" to partake in it as well.

No, that was his past; it was over with.

_Come on, Riben, wake up! Ah, you're no fun._

Wait, I'll be just a second more!

_No, no. I can't interrupt you. You're asleep now._

Wait!

Kiku's eyes shot open, a gasp escaping his lips. A terrible gnawing clawed his stomach and he felt fairly faint from exhaustion. Slowly, he began to rationalize the situation. He was dressed in one of the kimonos he had brought with him (which, to his horror, was strewn open, revealing his naked, shivering chest). His face felt stiff, as if it had been compressed by ice (luckily Yao had enough sense to remove the alienating make-up). Everywhere he felt stiff and sore, cold and shifting with irregular warmth.

And yet, as he regained his senses, he began to feel a pleasant heat.

No wonder.

An emerald sleeve rested on his sensitive back, disappeared beneath loose folds (what are you doing, sleeve-kun?). He was on someone's lap, legs curled in on white baggy pants, face touching warm jade chest, someone's chin on the crown of his hair. Another green sleeved arm was loosely wrapped around his shoulders. The hand on his back was rubbing in small circles (soft, soft hands...) like he was a baby settling down to sleep (n-no, please, not there...). Torsos touching, he could distinctly feel the other person's heartbeat (Damn it, kimono-kun, stay on! Stop revealing my shoulders so much...).

A blush consumed his face and Kiku's hair gratefully shielded that red face from the emerald sleeves' owner. The tree they leaned against (a stout oak Kiku christained "Vodka") frowned deeply, bark wrinkling and gnarly, probably unpleasant to his captor's soft skin.

"Kiku-di?!" A slow, sleepy smile rose on the rising face of his captor (Kiku looked shyly up, the captor's eyes seductively soft). An embarassed blush turned away the face of the captured.

Kiku nodded in slight affirmation, blushing, blushing.

"Kiku-di…"Yao's hand turned Kiku's chin towards him (Gah!).

"Kiku~aru…" A yearning kiss aimed for the young nation's lips was avoided, much to China's disappointment (Please, kiss me for once, idiot...).

Japan rose from China's lap, his kimono fluttering as he did so. China looked up, concerned, before rising himself from the soft cushion of grass (Come back, I feel so empty).

Kiku embraced himself, feeling desperately vulnerable (I want to hold you). He'd been knocked out for gods' knew how long (two weeks, Russia snickered) in place unfamiliar to him surrounded by people he hardly knew. It was confusing enough to find one unconscious, but in the arms of someone they'd been isolated from for years? What was going on?

"I-I was negotiating with Russia-san a-and then I find myself here. Wh-what happened? I have no idea… The war!" Kiku rushed around the sanctuary of branches like a crazed bee before collapsing to the ground, hands covering his eyes before tears consumed him (eat me alive). The war, the responsibility, the shock, the hunger, the pain and the bewildered confusion (unexpected love); it was just too much.

Yao thought guiltily of his and Russia's tryst; it seemed Kiku's tears had been subconscious. He had been aware and he hadn't. It was like suffering from a bout of amnesia (forget, forgot, forgotten).

Kiku was blubbering things in his own tongue, rubbing his arms, tears running freely. Yao's brows furrowed slightly in frustration and he walked over to Kiku (You were once my child).

He seized one of Kiku's hands and pulled him into a standing position. Kiku's eyes were wide in surprise, unable to react.

"Kiku, please—"a heartrending plea. Yao pulled Kiku forward and into his embrace (panda bear). He placed a more forceful kiss on Kiku's lips, refusing any resistance (ah, Russia, you are a good teacher).

Kiku was immediately silenced, feeling a little calmer (can't fight). And yet the fire blazing within his Gege seemed far from diminishing, blazing brighter than ever before (I want more). Yao retracted anyway, remembering how regretfully reserved his neighbor was (not ready, ever).

Holding him in a tight jade embrace, Kiku's tears subsided and he regained his composure more or less (samurai).

Yao reluctantly released him. Kiku abruptly turned away and began reconfiguring his kimono, this over that, that in there, binding this, until he was fully covered. He sighed shakily, one thing absolved.

Turning to his former guardian (no, he still is), Kiku spoke: "Yao-ge, why are you here?" his mature voice beginning to recover.

Yao studied his hands intently, as if they were the most fascinating things in the wondrous conservatory (fingers like petals). "I was here to ask for help from Russia-xiao-di~aru. Your armies have told and showed me that the people of China must modernize, even just a little." His face twisted into a grimace, tongue spitting out that dreadful word. "Modernize." How awful it tasted, like dirt riddled with wastes (worm dirt pig).

Guilt's dagger stabbed Kiku several times before stopping over his heart, not ready to pierce there just yet (gleaming blade lusts).

"I see." Kiku's eyes were downcast. He walked shyly up to Yao, putting a hand to his cheek, which the older nation gratefully held with his own (I love you too much) . His tender gaze rested on Kiku's.

"I want you to stay the way you are forever, Yao-ge," he said in earnest, nodding for effect. "I want you to stay beautiful and wise, unstained by blood."

Yao sincerely wanted the same, under the boughs of a cherry blossom (Riben). How small and delicate Kiku seemed before him, fragile as a doll. It was like they were young again (no, even then Yao was old).

"I do too, Kiku-di." A small smile, an emotional gaze.

Kiku quickly pecked Yao's lips in a chaste kiss (not ready, ever), eliciting a blush from the older nation.

Laughing, he buried Kiku in his arms with such force that they fell to the ground, Yao still grinning and Kiku squeaking like a mouse. Side-by-side they laid, Yao holding Kiku in the shade of his sleeves. They laughed loudly together, out of relief and a profound sense of happiness.

A door (slamming open).

Both started badly at that sound, shooting from the ground (conscequences). Yao knew who it was (I love you, da?).

Brows furrowed, China took Japan's hand and rushed from the large sanctuary and into the vulnerable open.

"Russia!" Yao's voice demanded, carrying such strength. Russia was there, Lithuania cringing at his side, eyes pleading for help (yandere).

Standing before him, seizing Kiku around the waist possessively (guardian), Yao glared broadswords and guns at Ivan, other hand balling into a fist (die).

"Why is Kiku-di here? Why was he drugged?! He told me that you were both were supposed to negotiate something~aru. Tell me, why hasn't that happened? Answer me, Russia!"

Russia's hand twitched and his usual pleasant smile swooped into a frown, eyes full of malice towards Kiku (kill). How DARE that little chain of measily islands steal his lovely dear?!

"моя любимая дорогая, I assure you that this was something orchestrated by my czar. You understand, da?" Russia said, looking as innocent as a child (protect me).

"Man zi!" Yao spat insultingly at Russia (I hate you). "You're lying~aru!"

Russia erupted (volcano). "Why are you protecting that piece of dirt?! Did you not see what his people did to yours not so long ago?!" Lithuania cowered behind further, eyes darting between Yao and Ivan who were seething like a steaming hot spring (deer).

"That is the fault of his rulers, military, and sympathsizers~aru! You know that! As nations we have no power over what happens! We are the victims! Surely you know that by now, Russia-xiao-di~aru!"

Ivan looked down (feet). "Yes, it is true I cannot condone all that they do… Nevertheless, I thought I could take it into my own hands to protect my people. Our leaders want war. They crave and adore war, da? They long for the blood of our people to be spilt, land or sea. It doesn't matter. I concocted this plan under the guise of war machinations. I really only wanted to protect my people. Please try to understand, моя любимая дорогая."

Yao's eyes softened considerably (butter); he always had a weakness for innocence, even in his most hated enemy (killed). He released Kiku who was unsure of what to do (vulnerable).

Japan walked shyly over to Russia, who hardened his face in an attempt to hold back tears (dam overflowing). "Russia-san, I think we are all the victims here. None of us are responsible; we know who the true perpetrator is."

Russia suddenly seized Kiku in his great arms (I hate to love), Yao's lips forming wordless protest, faltering, and Lithuania just sighed, exasperated. The tall nation needed something to keep him grounded in reality and away from the malevolent abyss (20,000 leagues).

"Thank you, мышка."

Yao silenced himself, deciding that the embrace had no romantic connotations (maybe). Lithuania just smiled, giving Yao a knowing look; China just shrugged (what can I do?).

* * *

Japan buttoned the last clasp of a Tolstovka (courtesy of Russia) , relieved that things were finally beginning to settle down. After Russia released him, he had instructed Toris to take the archipelago and get him changed. Kiku happily acquiesced (the kimono made him feel out of place) and was now in somewhat more preferable clothing. Had he been at home or with any of his beloved siblings he would've preferred the kimono. Now he was wearing a plain linen Tolstovka of plain beige, as well as knee-length slate pants and traditional style boots (Russian). It did look fairly outlandish on him, but beggars can't be choosers (beggars freeze). Lithuania was wearing a Kosovorotka of a more ornate style as well as longer white pants. Japan sighed; maybe plain clothes did suit him best (canvas).

They exited the room, Lithuania in high spirits with a sunnier disposition than earlier. Traversing up one of the many hallways, they came into the living room where Russia and China stood waiting (husband and wife).

China was wearing an ornate rubashka shirt of pearly white with frilly piping, an embroidered sarafan dress, underneath were white baggy pants, and an equally ornate epancha vest; his hair was braided and crowned by a pearly blue kokoshnik (wedding present). From the way Yao's hair was styled, it was as if he was a married woman. From what Japan had studied on Russian culture, only a bride would wear clothes such as what Yao wore now.

Russia caught Kiku's lingering stare and smirked, winking. Was he trying to start a war over Yao (marry who)?

Russia wore a shirt similar to Toris's, but was explosively more ornate with precious stones gleaming entrancingly (czar). His usual scarf was wrapped around his neck and a laughing Yao had some of the scarf wrapped around his neck as well (mine). Ivan looked like a gloating king with a precious treasure within his reach.

Lithuania's eyebrow shot up, but he was blushing fiercely (Kiku was as cool as a cucumber). It seemed Yao was the pretty, lively doll now. Russia just shrugged and returned his affections to China (loving).

"Russia-san," Kiku intervened, his voice had an expectant pitch. China sobered and smiled warmly, walking over to Kiku and proudly flouncing his feminine outfit (wife).

"What do you think~aru?" Yao beamed, waiting for cued praises to rain down upon him.

Lithuania pretended to study it admiringly before giving a forced smile of satisfaction. Kiku gave it a once over, trying to hide his jealously over Russia's well-executed endearments.

"It…looks nice," Kiku said finally, averting Yao's gaze like a stoic prince. His hands settled in his pockets, trying not to look uncomfortable (awkward).

"You look very beautiful," Russia called across the room, smiling radiantly. Yao smiled warmly and walked again to Russia's side (husband).

Clapping his hands suddenly, Russia said: "Everyone his hungry, da?"

He led them to an ajescent dining room in the grand Russian tradition, a long table lacquered a deep chestnut with high-backed chairs waiting to be occupied. Porcelain plates with many scenes of traditional life glazed over sat next to an army of many forks, knives, and spoons on large place napkins. Since there was only four of them eating them there was more room for the plethora of steaming dishes and tempting foods (savor).

Russia politely held out a chair for a delighted Yao who sat down, eyeing the food with wide, excited eyes (hungry). Fishes and other seafood immediately appealed to Japan while China's eyes roved among all the food, eagar to try everything. Russia and Lithuania smiled, bemused, at their guest's exuberance (eat).

Once everyone was seated (Russia and China seated across like a wife and husband, Lithuania and Japan parallel as well) food was served to waiting, hungry hands.

Yao took a little bit of everything, not at all hesitating to shovel in as much food as possible (he was the least familiar with Western customs) in his mouth, awkwardly using the utensils Russia quickly coached him to use. Japan, as usual, preferred to eat smaller amounts than even the petite Toris; Russia ate just as heartily as his jade treasure (mine).

Soon after eating (after loud sighs of satisfaction from China), Lithuania fled to the kitchen with Japan to clean up (despite Toris's protestations). Ivan and Yao were left behind, the Asian nation gushing proudly over his adorable pandas while Russia interjected with contrasting the black and white bears to fluffy Siberian tiger cubs. Both came to a stalemate, agreeing that both were adorable in their eyes.

"If you will excuse me, I must be getting to bed now; I apologize but I don't have any rooms available. Please sleep in here for tonight," said Russia after Japan and Lithuania finished their work (and discovering how much they had in common). Yao smiled warmly as Ivan embraced him briefly, loosely (no romance? Doubtful).

Toris followed suit, yawning without decorum. He patted Kiku's shoulder, who was now his brother-in-rags. Yao grinned widely, a flurry of thank-you's following the Lithuanian to his bedroom.

"Kiku~aru," came Yao's flirtatious voice (alone). Boldly he tore off the headdress, jacket, dress, (keeping on the gaudy shirt) and tossed them aside. He shook free the braided bindings in his hair and rebound it familiarly (remember).

Kiku felt his confidence (his cool, quiet confidence) sink low into a nervous butterfly-fluttering of his heart. He retreated to the couch and pretended to mess with the cushions (bad idea). Yao sauntered confidentily to the couch and plopped down next to Kiku, giving him a sidelong, come hither glance. Blushing, Kiku pretended to be dense (Fujiyama).

"Here's a blanket for you, Yao-ge. I'll sleep on the floor; you can have the couch." Fluff, fluff; pat, pat went the pillows (poof).

"Kiku…"Yao's voice said again, lowering as he did. Kiku was frozen; a little mouse.

"W-would you like me to start a fire…Y-Yao-ge?" Dense as an iceberg you must be; Kiku liked that maxim (hiding).

"Dammit, Kiku-di~aru!" Yao said in a loud whisper. Assertively he pushed Kiku to the couch and pinned him there, causing Kiku's usually mature voice to break into a squeak.

Yao pressed his lips in a fierce kiss to Kiku's, completely mortifying the poor nation (I want to love you!). Skillfully Yao held Kiku's hands in an arresting grip and quickly unbuttoned the younger nation's shirt halfway (go slowly…) with suspicious speed and alacrity (where did he learn to do that?!). Kiku's eyes looked here and there in panic; apparently he wasn't even ready for first base (not ready, ever).

China decided to be merciless (France, did you teach him?!). Pulling away, Yao rained kisses on Kiku's neck, some creating hickeys (vampire). He wanted it to be very obvious that Kiku had some action (insert snicker here) and thus make it more memorable for Nippon.

Kiku wasn't buying in. He was hilariously reluctant and began murmuring frantic pleas for his neighbor to stop ("L-Look, a panda!" "Please stop; N-no…"), but all proved futile he was so quiet (Russia isn't very nice when woken up).

When Yao's lips decided to descend to his collarbone, Kiku had had enough (not ready, ever).

"Yao-ge!" he said, exasperated. Yao, wounded with enormous puppy eyes, released Kiku (adorable). Kiku quickly moved away from Yao, huffing indignantly, buttoning up his shirt and recovering lost dignity (red hot).

Surrounding himself with the blanket, Kiku heaved a sigh. "Since when have you been in heat?" he asked, burying himself in the warm folds with his head sticking out (warm).

"Kiku-di, you do realize the situation we're in, right~aru?" he asked, folding his arms (Must, Get. Under. Blanket; Too. Cute.).

"Yes," Kiku said automatically. They were in a time of incessant warring; interludes such as this were blissful and precious (fleeting).

"Aiya! I can't help myself Kiku! Lately I've been feeling like every day could be the end of the world. I just have this drive I can't explain; loose all reason, it urges. Besides, I've been stagnant as a peat bog for the last four thousand years; I'm not surprised that dire times make me act rashly." He was shivering, Kiku noticed (Russian cold).

Kiku unfurled a gaping opening in the blanket, inviting the shivering Yao in. The older nation eagerly complied and scooted closer to Kiku. He took the folds of blanket and resealed the cold opening. Giggling euphorically (Kiku's hands were busy holding the blanket closed) Yao's arms unhesitatingly wrapped tightly around Kiku's waist, causing Kiku to spasm at the unexpectedness of it (not ready, ever).

"You're too tense," chided Yao, resting his head on Kiku's shoulder. Kiku tried forcing himself to relax (war tomorrow; war tomorrow), but it was to no avail. Maybe he was just naturally high strung (racehorse).

Eventually, sleep overtook Kiku. Yao blushed pleasantly as his Didi rested his head on his Gege's shoulder (too cute!). Gege sneakily repositioned them to a horizontal angle on the big, fluffy couch. Facing each other, Yao held Kiku close as he fell asleep, for once being able to dream of wonderful things (sanctuary).

* * *

Last thoughts: Okay, I have just killed you with fluffy fluff (kinda?). As I re-read this, I noticed how much I ruined the chapter with (parenthases) overkill. This chapter even wasn't supposed to be this long! –sweat- ...I'm also experimenting with writing styles so this type probably won't be my primary style, just something to do for fun.

Anyway, this is the last chapter of cuteness before I return to awesomesause epic! battles. The Russo-Japanese War will take up the bulk of a few chapters and you might get to see Ivan-kun use water pipe-kun in combat. I really think you could skip this chapter and not miss a beat. It was fun to write, but I had to watch a bazillion aph slash videos on YouTube for inspiration (Lietchenstein/Switzerland is my favorite –happyface-). That's why it took so long (heh heh…).

Okay, I'll keep it short. I'm starting to warm up to Russia/Japan, no joke. There's really no love between them even though I'm guessing they're temporary friends. But once the prelude to WWII rolls around, Ivan will most likely go back to hating Japan. After all, Russia in this particular story is in love with China. Will he relinquish his jade treasure (lame pet name, I know) to our little hero? Not a chance.

I honestly could not type the romance scene with a straight face, I was laughing so hard. I instantly thought of Kyoko Mogami (from Skip Beat) who is so reluctant in romantic encounters you usually die laughing. I thought of that and, well, died laughing; it was too perfect! Sorry to kill you with this long chapter.

Did you notice the chapter change? I didn't like the plain English honorifics so I changed them to their original context. Feel free to translate because I won't. -is shot-

As always, review, review, review!


	10. High Seas Hell, мой союзник

"The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his."

-General George S. Patton

"I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask, "Mother, what was war?""

-Eve Merriam

* * *

The hostage note had received promptly and the Emperor of Japan as well as the Prime Minister were both worked into a fine rage over it (this is madness). Generals and their superiors began a long week of intense, heated debate (this is Sparta) and saw it fit to deploy their forces against the self-assured might of Russia. The militants of Russia concocted an idea that their forces were invincible; impenetrable; impervious to assault. However, newly trained officers fresh from Germany and Britain (world conquerors) bequeathed upon the sword-wielding masses of men the ways of gun and mortar as well as confusing jargon. The Emperor decided to ignite the flames of madness in the hearts their men that their Divine Ruler personally wished for sacrifice worthy of the ways of Bushido (big brother). All branches of the Imperial forces were imbued with any strange yet familiar ideologies (ritual suicide).

And so the ships of war, their bellies bulging with machinery and the blackmail of war, the rising sun paramount in their colors. The exodus of supplies and munitions from every corner of their empire was frantically made, loading men and rations alike (wine dark sea).

Men from farms and major hubs of commerce were conscripted (force). Lawyers and their sons, lawyers, farmers and their sons, jewelers' sons, sons of prominent aristocrats, sons of the poor, sons of bitches, sons of a gun, sons of jackals; every able-bodied man (boys) was slapped with the Imperial Armed Forces' insignia of a proud, beaming sun like Amaterasu (divine). They were told nothing of their fate in the modern-day military or navy but rather they wordlessly accepted their fate (death).

Wives wept tears of joy and sadness, sisters were told to behave, and young brothers were made to solemnly swear their allegiance to the Emperor and to their country (fight). Words of warmth were ground out like an apple through a strainer; difficult and oozing sticky juices (warm). Fiancés and girlfriends held their hands in prayer as they watched their lovers prepare for an impossible ordeal, dew staining the sleeves of their kimonos so artlessly (never again will I see you). They grabbed for the arm of their man, wrenching open tense fists to gently place a fragrant trinket (precious), whispering vows of eternal love and filial obligation (faithful). Last embraces and passionate nights were shared before painful departures of the morning were met (I will wait).

Trudging through dusty roads of their childhood, these men would look at the tender memoirs of their families and home (reflecting) and suddenly feel the urge to return and deny their place in the glorified ranks of war (Yasukuni). Gritting their teeth in unwavering determination (don't turn back) they will remember their vows and promises and remember what they are now seen as: soldiers strictly honoring the ways of Bushido (sacrifice). Remembering the laconic words of soldiers in the past, these young man will note that this is a modern war; the first of its kind against a powerful European nation (half Asian).

* * *

Their good-bye had been brief and stiff, Nippon's lips pursed tightly and breathing unevenly (nervous). Yao-ge was distraught by his Didi's condition as took him aside, away from Lithuania and Russia's prying eyes to ask him what was the matter. Kiku said nothing, responsive as a mute with his lips sewn shut (secret). Chuugoku tried to be encouraging (cheer up), but was to no avail. Kiku was simply too nervous for the impending war; Russia seemed excited more than anything, ready to pummel the "silly little Imperialists." Lips set in a tight line, Japan wordlessly gathered his things (China was to stay with Russia for a few months to learn about militarization and defense, things of the utmost concern) and turned with finality to China, face painfully stoic; the face of the Imperialists, Yao thought.

Yao folded his arms, contemplating, as Kiku milled about the house, his Gege hot on his heels. They visited the conservatory for the last time, Kiku saying his good-byes to his new organic oak friend, Vodka, as well as paying his respects to the ever-radiating sunflower (forever). The flowers sang their good-byes, not understanding their grim event in their sunny chorus. The goldfish swam strongly as ever, yet fled at the sight of the looming naval uniform (scary). The frowning trees continued to scowl at their behest.

Once he finished, he slung his leather satchel over his shoulder. When Lithuania and Russia had said their farewells (painful jabs), Yao was the last.

"Can you really go through with this~aru?" he asked, leaning against the door frame. Kiku unhooked his coat, looking sadly at the older nation.

Bowing low, Kiku said laconically: "I apologize, Yao-ge, but I have no choice. People shall suffer if I don't go. You understand, right?" His eyes were gentle, breaking through the rigid mask (heartrending).

Suddenly, Yao-ge flung his arms around Kiku's neck, holding tight. Kiku's eyes widened (not ready, ever). Hesitantly at first his arms floated around Yao's slender form before he gently returned the Asian's embrace.

"I don't want you to go, Kiku-di. I know I'm selfish, but I want you to myself~aru." (Muffled)

Kiku didn't know what to say (not ready, ever).

Finally, "I will return; I promise." (Imagining happier times)

Yao gently nipped Kiku's neck, disguising it as a kiss, breaking a blood vessel (hickey). Kiku absorbed the pain, letting it fade instead of whimper; it would probably make a bruise.

"Yao-ge?" Wide eyes, not unpleasant.

"You'd better return before that fades away~aru," Yao said with conviction. Somewhat regretting making it hurt, Yao kissed the place again like a mother would her child's scratched finger (tender).

Separating, Yao put a hand on Kiku's shoulder, smiling assuredly.

Too stunned to speak, Kiku could only nod blankly (not ready, ever). Yao inhaled deeply, trying to soften shock with gentle humor.

"Hey, when you get on a ship, try to go fishing~aru. Might catch something you like," he said, laughing slightly.

A little softer, "Hang in there; I'll write you, okay~aru?"

Shaking his head, disrupting the stupor, Kiku responded with: "I'll catch you lots of fish and tell you about it, okay?" They were like brothers kidding around (only in the past).

Anxiously checking his watch, Kiku scrambled to get the rest of his heavy gear on. "Ah, I must hurry or else I might not make it!" (For a long journey?)

With a final chorus of farewells (Ivan-san; Toris-san, good-bye), Kiku and Yao's hands briefly touched for the last time. One lone immortal pounded the wall loudly once his Didi was gone (there are no fond farewells).

* * *

**4 April 1904, 0124 Hrs.**

The mark on his neck had faded a long time ago; a month ago to be exact.

The journey from Russia back to safety (a Japanese harbor) had taken several weeks; several long weeks in the cold of February. During that time Kiku had lost a stunning fifteen pounds, reducing the normally enduring nation to a near emaciated condition, but not quite. He had purple rings around his eyes like a raccoon, and the personnel aboard the ship bullied him relentlessly for it. He was also thin (ribs) enough to be mistaken for an anorexic girl, yet he still retained the youthful glow that all nations possessed (can't die). Kiku was weak and fell asleep at inappropriate times, earning him a beating from cruel disciplinarians who wanted nothing short of perfection. A few compassionate, albeit lowly, sailors tried nursing the sick nation back to good health. Thanks to their efforts Kiku was able to regain back some healthy weight and that in turn improved his performance (finally).

The ship he was on was a grand old destroyer, a veteran of the seas, commanded by men disciplined in the art of war fairly well. The uniforms the naval officers wore were tributes to the British naval officers who had passed on their legacy of Naval combat to the Japanese not so many years ago. Her inner hulls were a congregation of bloated and bellowing pipes like dense snakes twisting in worms and vines (jungle), the living quarters and separate rooms separated by walls of metal and shields of endless navigational equipment (never lost). It was a claustrophobic's nightmare: narrow ladders traipsed between levels and catwalks clanged precariously in the cavernous engine and boiler room. Sealed doors contained everything ranging from food and coal to offices and their war wary officers (exhausted).

An alley of bunks built into the side of the ship gave dreary views of the wine dark seas through tiny portholes the size of a small melon. A common and annoying feature of every alley and room was a myriad of pipes and gauges and blobs of random wires.

Kiku's own room was no bigger than a small Western-style bathroom (tiny), a perfect cube, length, width, and height no more than a few meters. His bed, which felt like it was stuffed with pebbles and oysters, was the tub, the small desk and adjoined swivel chair was the sink. File cabinets separated desk and bed, brimming with important (replaceable) documents and references. A single bulb over the desk was the room's only illumination; the door had just enough room to open and close, sidling past the desk and box that held the bed (careful).

Nippon, since arriving, forsaking his cage in favor of the desks cloaked in darkness. During the day was too dangerous, some insisted; you could be seen. The night was much more pleasant, anyway. Stars could sometimes be seen, twinkling softly (celestial masterpiece).

Tonight was no different from the gaggle of other nights; peaceful, clam, pure. Nihon leaned on a rail, humming an old folk song long forgotten by many generations, gazing at the indistinguishable sea and night (mirror). A wind blew across the decks; Japan was in the lee of the looming bridge, so he was safe from the torrents.

"It's on nights like this that the souls of the dead torment those among the living."

Kiku turned his head, catching glimpse of a silhouette champing on the butt of a glowing cigarette.

"They may be at peace; modern warfare hasn't been around forever," Kiku replied, trying to retain the urge to launch into deep conversation (maintain defenses).

"Ships have been sailing the seas before you were created, Nihon-sama," the man said, smoke graying the black where he exhaled.

"Not all met tragedy." Kiku coughed, reviled the awful stench exuding from the cigarette (awful).

"We will, once the Russians' bullets find our ships. We'll go down and you will survive. Only you." Flicking the spent cigarette to the ground, grinding it beneath his boot, the sailor trudged below deck, leaving Kiku to ponder his words.

The pondering didn't last, however, as Kiku's human name could be heard, calling (finding).

"Nippon-sama," reclamation of lost breath, "a letter…for you."

Kiku's heart began to beat nervously; only one person had promised to write to him. Rushing below decks, leather beating against metal, Nihon flung open the metal door to his room, locking it behind him. The single bulb glowed brightly on the plain desk; a single envelop, Chinese scripted, lay upon it.

With the utmost care Kiku used a blunt knife (a letter opener?) to tear open a neat line. Fumbling with it, he nervously straightened it, eyes beginning to comprehend the beautiful, artistic calligraphy.

_Hello, Didi, _

_This is my first time writing a letter and I'll admit I doubt my letter-writing abilities. Ivan-di has been teaching me so many Western crafts; he's been a lifesaver. _

_I've been reading about the history of the world, new languages, and best of all, the teachings Karl Marx and his disciples. It's such a peaceful government, where everyone is like a huge family with kindred parents to guide and protect their children. Not so long ago I came face to face with the atrocities of Westernized governments like those of Great Britain and even America. I really do like my emperors but Communism (as Russia-di calls it) really seems best for my people. You've seen the effects of democracy; things just fall into chaos, capitalism breeds greed and corrupt government officials, not chosen by the people, hoard money for their own benefit. I'm not too familiar with it yet like he is but I'll understand it soon._

_I'm so grateful to Russia-di. He's been a wonderful friend and teacher. I taught you and your 'siblings' many things long ago; it's nice to finally be able to relax a bit. _

_Anyway, I don't want to take up too much of your time. By the way, how have you been? Lithuania asked me to tell you that he can't wait to see you again and hopes to visit your house. How has life on a ship been like? Russia-di has shown me pictures of naval ships; they're so scary! Have you caught any fish yet? Sneaking a fishing pole on a ship is pretty difficult, right? Write to me! It's been too long. I really miss you, Didi._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Wang Yao_

_P.S. Your mark has faded by now, hasn't it? Please try to come back soon. Taiwan-mei sent me a letter demanding to know how you were doing. Write to her as well._

Kiku lowered the letter, feeling crushed. Yao-ge had written mostly about Ivan-san and how wonderful he had been (loving).

Nihon knew he could never compete with Russia in some capacities; they bordered each other. Yao-ge had known Ivan since the 1600s and was on fairly friendly terms. And Russia seemed to be showing signs of romantic attachment to his Siberian neighbor.

Sighing, defeated, Kiku hid the letter safely away in a hidden safe, locking it tightly. Collapsing on the bed, he fell into a troubled sleep.

Nightmares of China kissing Russia passionately pervaded his mind that balmy night, frightening the island nation more than a mortal wound ever could.

* * *

Last thoughts: I promised you epicness and gave you drabble… Sorry. Anyway, this is the transition chapter leading into the Russian-Japanese War.

During the early- and mid-1900s China began taking the ideals of Socialism and Communism from Russia, Sun Yat-Sen being a prominent progressive in this movement any eventually creating the Kuomintang (KMT) (Nationalist) Party as well as inspiring the creation of the Communist Party. However, with the Qing Dynasty's last ruler finally abdicated, tensions between the KMT and warlords who controlled the un-united provinces of China faced the problem of vanquishing these warlords and uniting China under one governing party. Yao-ge begins to show interest in Communism in his first letter just as, I'm sure, many intellectuals and politicians did during the beginning of the tumultuous 20th century. Besides igniting the trend of Communism, Russia also provided aid to walk China through the steps of becoming a Communist country, as we will see in later chapters.

Realistically, I realize that it's impossible for me to keep chapters short; I have too many ideas. I'm going to saw the average length will be 3000 or so words. The words in (parentheses), by the way, are just extra snippets of information as well as (what I think to be) artistic commentary. Kind of like the voices in your head who never pay rent.

Completely unrelated: I came up with a new card game that Kiku will play later in during some down time. I still have to experiment and perfect it so it may be a little while.

Anyway, as usual, review, review, review!


	11. Ultramarine Flavors, mano draugas

"Each nation feels superior to other nations. That breeds patriotism - and wars."

-Dale Carnegie

"The nation will find it very hard to look up to the leaders who are keeping their ears to the ground."

-Winston Churchill

* * *

**9****th**** April 1904, 2300 Hrs.**

_Dear Yao-ge,_

_Has it indeed been so long since I've last wrote to you? It seems that time refuses to stand still; even as I write I can hear the clock ticking faster than usual. _

_How is 'Ivan-di' doing? It makes me glad that someone has been taking such good care of you and is ensuring that you receive a good education. I should like to see you again soon, but our circumstances seem to prevent that. The sea seems even more tumultuous as usual as we proceed, steadfast, to our first naval campaign. I wish things would have never come to this. The ambient temperature seems to drop little by little as we make way to Russia; it's like the trickle of melting icicles. _

_I, too, have heard of this Communism you speak of. Please be careful, Yao-ge; things may get out of hand. As promising as this new government sounds, the road to achieve it may not be bloodless or enjoyable. And please exercise caution in your studies of Western culture; you alone can choose what is most beneficial. _

_I've written to Taiwan-mei like you suggested. She's doing fine and I left explicit instructions for her caregivers so that she is as comfortable as possible. I hope for the day that we may sit at the same table in peacetime, you, me, Taiwan, the Koreas—everyone. Until then I will pray for peace._

_That reminds me—I caught a few fish yesterday. I can't say what breeds they were but upon food preparation they were quite delicious—the men who joined me are the few sane officers unsteady about war and modernization as you and I. _

_Please take care of yourself._

_Sincerely,_

_Didi_

_P.S. I'm not sure how long I'll be at war, but I assure you that I will leave at the soonest possible time._

Yao stood, staring blankly at the letter, re-reading it just for good measure (lost).

This was the first letter he'd received from Kiku in months; the first letter in their formal exchange (diplomacy).

A large hand snatched the manuscript and amethyst eyes quickly scanned it, a placid smile rising on the reader's lips (delightful).

A giggle. "My, my, how formally мышка chooses to write to моя любимая дорогая." Russia turned the letter this way and that as China impatiently folded his arms together and tapped a pressing finger, looking expectantly at the large Russian (waiting).

"He's always been like that~aru," Yao said, trying to grab the paper, failing miserably. Russia giggled again, holding it high, far from Yao's capable reach (teasing).

"You care for me now, da?" The letter flapped and crackled as Russia's teasingly waved it.

Not willing for a second more of nonsense, China's hands wrapped around Ivan's neck, dragging him downwards; placing a mild kiss (deepening) on his lips, Yao tried again to grab for it, and Ivan's hands lowering around his waist.

It really didn't help that they were in Ivan's grand bedroom, very near a large bed. Russia expertly led Yao, who had given in by now, to the bed's edge (pure seduction). They toppled over and Yao landed, as usual on the bottom; it had become routine by now. Their kiss deepened and Ivan made quick work of the Westernized dress shirt that the Chinese man had adopted of late, more skin revealed button-by-button (pale). Yao's hands roved through his partner's hair, swimming through a sea of ash blonde. Ivan deepened their kiss, eliciting a soft groan from the sable-haired man (sensual).

Yao had, by now, firmly established that he was not a demure uke. Unbuttoning Ivan's overly thick coat, gladly shrugged off, Russia snickered into their many kisses. It seemed with each steamy night and romantic day he was becoming more assertive and daring (serious). However, their clothes never came off all the way; Yao wasn't quite to that part yet.

Over the past few months, Russia had managed to brainwash China in more ways than one.

First, he'd managed to convince the Asian nation that Kiku—Japan—truly was an enemy not to be trusted (betrayal). The minds of the people in China's seemed to spur that ideal quickly with their protestations against the Japanese and their actions during THAT war so many years ago.

Second, revolutionaries seemed to making quite a dent on the people of China; dissent was on the minds of more than just politicians (corruption). Ivan whispered of how only a select few people (himself) who followed Marxist ideals could be trusted, and that all other Westerners (Capitalists, Democratic nations) could not (remember opium).

Still, those annoying butterflies of feelings were there, fluttering and beginning to die like cherry blossoms (masterpiece). Kiku was still there in his heart, but Russia was starting to consume him (snake).

These thoughts echoed with dissonance in China's eternal mind, finally awakening him.

Breaking their kiss, Yao looked with melting eyes at Ivan.

"We have a lesson now, don't we~aru?" he said—sighed. Ivan smiled and kissed him lightly one last time before prancing off the bed, leaving both to regain their bearings.

They left the room, arm-in-arm.

There on the bed, hopelessly crumpled and torn, was Kiku's letter, forgotten. Someone had passed by and noticed it (abandoned).

Toris, saddened by what he had seen, walked slowly into the room, scooped the letter from the bed and held it to his chest.

"I'll write to you, Nihon. I'll treat you much better than _he _ever will." With this promise, Lithuania fled from the room, heart burning with resolve (betrayal).

(Rusija, aš tave myliu, tu idiotas…)

* * *

Kiku sneezed in the bitter night air, sniffing (sick). He pulled the thin blanket from below around his shoulders tighter.

Shaking the line of his fishing pole, he studied the stagnant waters for any signs of aquamarine life. A fish darted in the freezing waters, attracting Nihon's attention. Flicking his wrist to the side, he raised the metal-laden line across the water, hook skimming across, landing where he had seen the promising quarry (predator).

Feeling a strong tug, Kiku excitedly reeled in the line (slowly, carefully), feeling something large resisting.

It felt as if something was pulling him in (1899).

Winding his legs around the rails, he put as much strength as possible to reel in the fish (impossible).

_I can't do—_

"Kiku-di~aru."

Someone's hands, over his own, steadied him. Red sleeves added their strength, a warm chest to his back, pale face so close to his (dragon).

Slowly they reeled in the fish, Kiku's on the reel and the guardian's over his. Heaving, he could feel the monster fish flopping loudly against the side, undoubtedly making a racket.

Together they hauled the fish high, pole scraping the night sky, fish spinning (no defiance) like a pendulum. Lowering the fish to the deck, Kiku quickly stabbed it with his sword, killing it.

Panting, Kiku sat on the deck. Someone's arms encircled him, sleeves stark against white.

"I'll always be with you~aru."

Kiku whirled his head around, ready to face that familiar person. Head flipping left and right, he could see no one.

He was the only one on deck (apparition).

"Hey, what's going on?! You shouldn't be—"An irritated officer and his small band of sailors, armed, gazed in wide-eyed admiration of the huge fish bleeding slowly on the cold deck.

"Good job, Kiku-sama! We'll have enough fish for a week!" cried the officer exuberantly, sailors eyeing the fish greedily.

Tears streaming down his face, Kiku faced them.

"My Gege and I caught it."

Faces twisting in perplexity, the officer rebutted, "You're the only one here."

Kiku shook his head (denial).

_You just aren't looking hard enough._

* * *

Last Thoughts: -is shot- Yeah, short chapter is short. I'm not really ready to delve into the bloody battles of the Russo-Japanese War just yet (the first campaign will come by the next chapter). China's really starting to get the hots for Russia, da? How will this resolve I wonder…

In terms of history, Russia was just beginning to discover Communism and wouldn't undertake this government until after the Russo-Japanese War when the October Revolution pushed to abdicate their ineffective Tsar regime; it was fueled by the fact the Russians lost to the Japanese and that enflamed the people further. Also during this time a physician named Sun Yat-Sen was working hard to fuel revolution in China so that they could overthrow the Qing dynasty and pave the way for a democratic government. However, once the Communist and Nationalist parties were up and running, they would vie for power until The People's Republic of China was born.

There's more to it, but I'll get to it later. Also, there's probably going to be a lot of confusing love triangles…so I'm just going to warn you now. (I just learned that Australia's design has been made! I just have to squeeze him in! Methinks you'll see him come WWII. Did you know that Japan wanted to invade Australia? Look out for Aussie/Japan in the near future~)

I read a fanfic by ForgottenLuminescence where I first learned about Black Kiku. Black Kiku seems to be steadily gaining popularity…but he's just not suited for the story I have in mind. I'm thinking instead of making another character have a dark side. You'll see~

I think "Fireflies" by Owl City captures the mood of this chapter so well. Give it a listen and read it again if you don't believe me.

Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed!

As always, review, review, review!


	12. 2400 Would Be Splendid, Jūs Bastard

"No one can enjoy freedom without trembling."

-Emile M. Cioran

"To live is to choose. But to choose well, you must know who you are and what you stand for, where you want to go and why you want to get there."

-Kofi Annan

* * *

**11 April 1904, 2500 Hrs.**

_Dear Kiku Honda,_

_I'm sorry if this wasn't the letter you were expecting, but Wang Yao has become so…busy, for lack of better words, of late and regrets that he can't write to you for now. Mr. Braginski has been teaching him much so I'm sure you need not worry about that. _

_How are you? How is life at sea?_

"Stand fast, men! We can't let them overwhelm us!"

The sound of mortar fire from afar created shockwaves of thundering mortars slamming into the rocking wine dark ocean, sending geysers of water flying into the air. The night sky was gray with smoke, veiling what little vision there was and clogging the lungs of those on deck firing retorting blasts to those protected on land. Safe within their bunkers of thick stone resistant to what the Japanese were pounding them with, the Russians refusing to enter battle ship-to-ship, man-to-man.

Port Arthur was surrounded by high embankments of natural stone, shaved of any plants or towering trees. Hurling several salvos of 20mm mortars at the concrete bases of the Russians, from the decks of Japanese ships sailors new to modern warfare gawked in awe at the destruction wrought upon the land. Craters dug into the mountainsides, dents in thick concrete shelters, geysers splashing vertically in the night air.

The explosions of fiery infernos flickered on the sides and faces of metal and flesh. The buffets of mortars on land and sea pounded the ears of all those brave enough to listen.

Kiku was lost in a sea of faces and rushing bodies. He swam right only to be swept left; he looked up only for something to distract him down.

Orders were shouted above the rancor of men screaming orders and those of lower ranks scrambling to fulfill them. The representative of Japan was tossed aside and hurled against the rails in the frenzied panic, he reeled in the confusion. Defeated, he slumped on the rail, feeling useless and out of place. The water the rippling violently as salvos and the kettle drums of arms fire buffeted the water. The reflections of explosions lit the shaken surface brilliantly for sporadic moments. The recoil of mighty guns rocked the ships and made the air tremble with their roaring spurts of fire and shells.

"Nippon-sama!"

Said nation's raven tinted locks shot up, adrenaline coursing through his ancient veins. His eyes searched among the rushing sea of sailor's outfits and black hair before finally settling on one person who strode confidently forward, unabashed as he had been. This person wore the uniform of one with high ranking, a generous amount of gaudy metals adorning his chest, clinking and shimmering in firelight. Leather thudded dully against metal as this man proceeded to Nippon's side, ramrod straight in posture and gazing out at the ensuing battle with practiced indifference.

"The bombardment is carrying out as we had hoped," the man said stoically, "but the results we had hoped for seem naught."

_I really have no idea what you're up to. It's strange; it's almost as if you were never here… Mr. Wang is so preoccupied with his lessons that he even doesn't even acknowledge me anymore. I'm sorry if this news is distressing to you, but I must tell it to you straight._

_Mr. Honda…in light of the relationship you seemed to have had with Mr. Wang…I'm afraid that this person, who is so dear to you, is having an affair with Mr. Briganski._

"Then you will have to call off the attack, I trust? Please, sir, the men need their rest and there is no need to needlessly waste munitions and manpower on such a fruitless sortie. Perhaps we can cease fire and re-strategize—"

The man's eye twitched and for a second his countenance displayed one of disgust at his nation's pleas.

"There is no need. This is completely essential, I assure you. The Russians can't remain holed up forever in their rat mazes of concrete they call fortresses. Even in times such as this we need to show them who they are dealing with."

"But, sir—"Kiku tried to protest.

"Nippon-sama, I _assure_ you, we are quite capable of carrying out duties we have been trained for. You have had little to no experience in the ways of modern naval and land warfare. The emperor and prime minister may pound as much technical knowledge as they wish in your expansive mind but that is no substitute for training with things you've only seen in drawn diagrams."

Kiku's brows furrowed and he stormed to face the higher ranking man, lips pulled into a silent snarl.

"You will listen to _me, _boy. I've fought battles before your family even existed. I've spoken with Murasaki Shikibu-sama herself; you know not of the knowledge I possess. I am thousands of years old; I am not going to let some _tic _in the stream of my history tell me what my people should or should not do. I wish not to be here but I came out of respect of His Eminence and his wishes. I simply ask for you to listen to my proposal. You know as well as I that firing arrows at the entrance of a rabbit hole will do nothing to root out the rabbit."

The man was deeply irritated by this and raised his hand, flesh connecting with flesh. The collision between hand and face sent Kiku reeling to the ground, hand just stopping him from crashing into hard metal. Nippon recovered, shooting a death glare to a man who glared with equal hatred back.

He stooped low, seizing the collar of Kiku's uniform in a vice. Wrenching him forward like Nippon had years earlier the knife from his abdomen, his words hissed perversely into the nation's ear.

"You listen to me, Nippon-_sama,_" the man spat. "You have no power here. You never have. You are simply an immortal soldier; a breathing compendium of knowledge; a device to be used as we see fit. You have never had the independence to order the masses or your superiors. I don't give a damn if you've spoken to Sun Tzu himself, you must do as we say. I thought it had been beaten into you by now."

How badly Kiku wanted to retaliate; strike one of many who caused misery for so many innocent people. This was how the government, even the high command of the military, viewed the people and land of Japan. They took the men of families from all over the islands and used them at their behest, not caring if one or one thousand died.

And so were the ways of modernization.

Kiku rose, warily watching the man cowardly retreat into the tide of men, disappearing beneath waves of sweat and heightened tension. Raising a hand to his cheek he felt the stinging after burn, like the poison of America's vulgar drink of coffee beans. Still smarting as he rectified himself, Nippon strode completely unnoticed by rushing men, turning to descend below decks. Perhaps he could talk some sense into the boorish officers who seemed incapable of developing an effective strategy.

_I cannot say why Mr. Wang has become so enamored with Mr. Braginski, but I thought it might have to do with your long absences of late. I haven't spoken to Mr. Wang in quite a long time, months, really, but I've heard him speak of how you never reciprocated his love the way he wanted. I am at quite a loss of words, my friend. I have tried my best to investigate into the matter but these two are rather elusive. I am sorry for being so frank and telling you such ill news, but it would be much more wicked if I were to keep you in the shadows._

In the small meeting room Nippon went to, a small, dangling bulb swayed with the ship. Light retreated and invaded dark corners with the rocking motions, creating an unsettling atmosphere. A dense cloud of smoke circled the ceiling and reduced the bulb's light to misty dust while the light bulb itself was like a bright sun. A feeling of claustrophobia pervaded the air, small walls seeming to crowd in closer and closer, threatening suffocation. An ovular table was gorged with maps and figures and blueprints, furious pen marks and violent red circles making various important pieces of focus. Fists pounding emphasis in words on the worn table as men under extreme pressures debated hotly the impending attack. Nippon waited silently in the shadows, deciding that he'd let the officers notice him instead of interrupting their frenzied speech.

Snippets of conversation wafted by Kiku's ears.

"They are heavily fortified—"

"—much too risky!"

"—so instead we should—"

"Send another wave of salvos to—"

"—too impenetrable!"

"Gentlemen!" a man with a heavy handlebar moustache boomed, hooded eyes focusing intently on their ninja-like visitor. He made a sweeping gesture to an empty chair next to him; Kiku acquiesced and passed by officers who grudgingly moved in their chairs to let the personified nation pass. Sitting down quietly, facades of calm and tranquility settled on the belligerent faces of the officers present.

Kiku quickly swept his gaze over the table before returning his attentions politely to the expectant moustache man, whom he would later learn was called Captain Hiro Iwo.

"Honda-sama, we are extremely pleased to be graced by your presence. But I must ask: are these plans to your satisfaction? We've been debating on the best course of action and cannot agree upon a conclusion. Perhaps a little intervention on your part would prove fortunate?" he said with exaggerated formality.

Kiku's eyes flicked between the myriad maps and diagrams and Hiro's twitching eye muscles.

Fingers holding his chin in contemplation, Nippon's index finger flowed over the crinkly papers like a black-tipped calligraphy brush on frail parchment, occasionally pressing on spot before floating elegantly to their next destination. He lifted his gaze to study the other officers who were gazing at the maps with amusing seriousness, as if a snake would spring from his finger and poison them senseless.

He made small noises of confusion and discovery at certain points, as if he was engaged in silent exchanges with an invisible colleague.

"I believe I've come up with a plan that you may like, gentlemen," Kiku said airily, as if this were an informal business meeting and not strategic assessments of the utmost importance.

The men leaned in closer, intrigued with a feral-like curiosity, as if Kiku had just pin-pointed their next easy kill. Taken aback by their sudden closure of space, Nippon swallowed nervously, feeling tension boiling around him.

Clearing his throat loudly, his finger poked a map, landing exactly where Port Arthur was and where they were as well.

"Well, it's quite obvious to me that bombardment is doing nothing; they certainly know better than to brazenly leave port when the enemy is eagerly awaiting them. Why leave the safety of the nest when the elegant feline awaits them so close by?" They were caught now, nails biting them table harder than their teeth did their tongues.

Making a swirling motion in the air, Kiku brought his hands together and laced them, forcing a pleasant smile. The climax was soon to strike, eyes locked with rising action.

Almost laughing, as if excited by his brilliant plan, he said, "What is it that we were rather famous for in the past?"

"Samurai and Bushido!" a stout one said, nodding his head with conviction.

Kiku shook his head.

"Our ingenuity," supplemented another.

A sigh of disappointment; frustration laced thinly through.

"Ninja," Iwo said automatically, "who roam the night with eerie familiarity and flirt with death. They court surprise and brutally stab strategy. Ninja who carried out dishonorable acts in the stead of wary samurai; assassins who owe their creation to mere peasants."

Kiku clapped his hands lightly, and another forced smile, one of satisfaction, alighted over his features.

"These are ninja who danced with the wind and sang with the blade. And tell me: why do ninja have any relevance to military strategy?" he intoned.

"Ninja were experts at sneak attacks and deception. They engaged in irregular warfare and completely defied the laws of Bushido," one said, crossing his arms and stroking his small coal beard.

Kiku's fingers snapped; a purely Western gesture. A few of them who had been thinking too intently were shocked out of their reveries and nodded furiously, minds not completely lost oblivious daydreams.

"Exactly. We must be unpredictable and unorthodox. And I believe my plan may help us attain such a lofty goal."

Iwo and the officers stared him down, eyes unwavering.

"I believe that one: we must use deception. Just as a possum fools his attacker into thinking its dead so that the predator becomes uninterested, we, too, must deploy such tactics. My plan is as follows: we round up a group of volunteer decoy ships that will stay within enemy vision and put up a farce of weakness which should draw the enemies out. However, before this occurs, we must plant mines in the water; just enough to stagger a sufficient amount of enemy vessels to render them useless. Once they fall for this trap, they should make themselves vulnerable for easier targeting, especially those who should by then by lame. Of course, such a risky operation will entail need for extreme caution and small covert teams to lay the mines. Then we will need some ships to volunteer themselves to this cause. What say you?"

Their eyes widened in giddy delight, broad smiles stretching across their faces. They began chattering like monkeys on crack, pointing with excess to random places on the table regardless of whether the paper they furiously poked was of any relevance. Captain Iwo smiled smugly, patting Kiku's back before lifting an enlarged map of Port Arthur and glaring at with intelligent intensity.

_I thought by now that you would be rather tired of shadows and ignorance. I wish Mr. Wang would express more of an interest in you and your struggles at sea, but he is much too preoccupied with inner turmoil of his own. I overheard him complaining frequently about endless aches and pains within his borders; a battle here, a scuffle there, and a disastrous flood elsewhere. I simply cannot imagine what levels of pain he tolerates on a daily basis but it must not be pleasant. I, too, feel pain as every nation does, but it seems Mr. Braginski and Mr. Wang must be able to relate the fact that many of their people suffer in miserable conditions every day. I wonder if they feel empathy towards one another._

_

* * *

_

**12 April 1904, 2400 Hrs.**

The veil is night was all Kiku ever saw anymore.

"_It's too dangerous during the daylight hours, Honda-sama. Please try to rest for now and wait until nightfall to emerge again," _a young sentinel had said timidly, back arched in a stiff bow to his nation. Kiku had nodded absently, feeling exhaustion peck with minimal effort at the sanity of his mind. Or what was left of it, for that matter.

Tonight was not just another apprehensive day at sea. Today earmarked the beginning of the plan Kiku had concocted the night before, those bloodshot officers debating hotly all through the night how to effectively and smoothly undertake the plan with minimal inefficiency and sloth.

And so, moments like these tugged at Kiku's interest, anything to let him escape the narrow confines of the ship. His room was private, sure, but it was also terribly stifling. Anyway, something about this night made a dread settle within the pits of his hollow stomach.

Cinching his katana and scabbard to its place on his belt, Kiku pulled the tiny door open and closed, shutting it softly in the eerily silent, rocking corridors of the ship.

He tread softly, letting no sound escape even his footfalls. However, something wasn't right. There were no other men wandering the halls on night watch. This served him well enough as he avoided obstacles and other impediments to reach the blissful, albeit cold, night air.

Once he reached the decks, he breathed deeply, dispelling the stale air that pervaded his nose from below decks. The stars were twinkling softly and the sky was as black as ebony, no men disrupting this chance of peace.

Nippon searched left and right, alarmed that there were even no officers or lower ranked naval personnel weren't at least up here to smoke; not that Kiku could object at all.

He inhaled deeply once again, trying to clear the fog in his mind. He walked listlessly to the rail he habitually haunted, leaning on the cold iron and steel, waves of shock radiating in his mind.

A footfall split the darkness; Kiku's head perked in the direction of the sound, hand floating near the hilt of his sword, eyes wide in pursuit of the intruder. Another step, only it was closer; too close for the distance Nippon had estimated this being to be at. It was as if they had teleported.

A hand twined around a cold rail, sword hand gripping the hilt tightly now, ears straining to hear. Had he not been on a ship or wearing noisy leather shoes he would've assumed a more battle-ready stance but this was what Western clothes had reduced a once great warrior to.

_I think you should know who I am, Honda-san, _an all too familiar voice taunted. The hairs on the back of Nippon's neck bristled intensely.

"Where are you?!" Kiku challenged, voice abrasive in the smooth, cool air.

_I'm in place where you always are. _So, the specter seemed game for riddles and paradoxes tonight.

"I am here. Why are you?"

_I am here simply because I want to be. _A demented giggle coiled and hissed in Kiku's ears.

"And I am here because I have a place here. Tell me: who are you?" demanded Kiku, struggling to force strength into his words.

_I am someone only you know best. _Another giggle, apparently it was this person's satisfaction at their own egotistical cleverness.

"Only I know myself best," retorted Nippon, hand gripping his weapon with whitening knuckles, more out of irritation than fear.

_Than can you guess who I am?_

Silence answered for him.

_Ah, you're no fun. Shall I tell you, then? _A sigh like a pouting diva's.

"By all means," Kiku said, nearing a growl.

_I am…you._

_My ramblings must be getting rather annoying to you by now, my friend, but just let me say a few more words. I must pass upon you a warning: Mr. Wang is no longer the man you remember; he has changed considerably. I'm not even sure if he will welcome you warmly upon your return. So in advance I must say that upon completion of this war, regardless of the victor, you immediately return home and forget this ever happened. You may even wish to wait a few years before seeing Mr. Wang again. I say this out of concern to you. Do not return to Russia or attempt to visit China else your feelings with be on forfeit. _

Kiku stopped entirely. This entity was him? How could that be? Why? How? Impossible!

Giving him up from the shadows, this figure emerged into the pallid moonlight. His face was exactly like Kiku's, youthful and beautiful, his build was small and slight, his uniform as immaculate and straight as his raven locks. Leather shoes padded softly in a gait exactly identical to Kiku's. His sword was bound on the same side, scabbard of polished sable material.

However, in his eyes were sarcasm and ill intent, his smile cocked smugly. His brows wrinkled weirdly, as if he was trying to prevent himself from dissolving into mad giggles and cackles. His coat was an abysmal black, not even reflecting moonlight; instead it sucked in all color and life like a gorging black hole.

Who stood before him was someone he had grappled too many times before, someone he despised above all else. A boy of the same age who was a collection of every dark temptation from the minds of millions of Japanese and his own abhorred, bestial desires.

Here stood Dark Kiku.

The one clad in white immediately pulled out his sword with a metallic, echoing ringing, silver polished blade sliding against its narrow container. Dark Kiku grinned wicked and moved with identical impetus, hunching over like a feral animal and eyeing Kiku with all the malice of a ravenous snake sizing up a delightful little mouse.

Kiku held his ground, poised straight and tall like a stable willow against a teasing wind. His sword trained on this Dark Kiku.

_I know how desperately you've wanted to embrace me for __**so **__long, _hissed Dark Kiku, words slurring in the accent of a snake.

"You're the very thing I've fought to kill for so long! Perhaps now will be my chance to do away with you, filthy cretin."

_Oh, don't say that. But, if you __**insist. **_

Dark Kiku quickly shuffled forward, sword spinning like a plane's propeller held by a twirling wrist, snickering loudly. Kiku leapt towards his shadow enemy, their swords clanging resoundingly on the too-still ship.

Blades deadlocked against each other, sparks dancing on their blades' edges; Dark Kiku's face began contorting to unbelievable angles and smiles only capable of a frowning theater mask. Kiku's flicked his wrist with harsh force, sending Dark Kiku colliding to the ground. Kiku pressed the sword down as hard as he could muster against his foe.

Dark Kiku seemed to have other plans and recoiled against Kiku, pushing him away with ease. The maniac's head was inches away from his and did something wholly unexpected. His doppelganger's lips pressed against his neck and intensified into a forceful nip. Yelping in utter shock and disgust, Kiku flinched backwards, landing on the cold and moist deck. Dark Kiku stood up, licked his lips in the style of a pervert, worthy of Francis Bonnefoy's praise.

_You taste good. The more you struggle, the more I want you, _Dark Kiku said, voice searing painfully in his rival's ears.

Kiku trembled violently as Dark Kiku flicked away Kiku's sword with one callous kick of his foot, then ramming the true Nippon's hand to the ground. Kiku gasped in pain, breaths escaping in hot, ragged puffs.

_Let me show you what you've never had the courage to do, dear little pussy-kun, _Dark Kiku purred.

Dark Kiku trapped Kiku's legs skillfully with his own, abnormal hands pinning Kiku's in a mild vice. The ringing of a knife filled the air, and Dark Kiku proceeded to use that knife to flick all of the buttons away from his battered military coat of common make, one-by-one. Dark Kiku began panting heavily, causing Kiku to spasm in revulsion. He was being seduced by himself!

That knife delicately tore open Kiku's undershirt, a soft ripping rising in crescendo. Nippon could do nothing; he felt abnormally weakened in Dark Kiku's stifling malevolent aura. Dark Kiku dipped downwards, kissing Kiku's neck once, twice, cheek.

_Let me show you the pain you've suppressed me with, you lovely bastard._

Pressing the knife until it broke through his pale skin, eliciting a pained gasp from Kiku, Dark Kiku traced a wavering line from Kiku's collarbone to the scar gracing his lower abdomen. Dark Kiku took a finger and smeared the escaping blood on his pale skin. Dark Kiku cackled softly, a mix between a hyena's high pitched laughter and a tiger's growl.

"This isn't right!" Kiku screamed, kicking and flailing weakly. "Why can't we just fight, you sick being?!"

_Because you never leant me such a privilege! Now I'll imprint upon your mind that who truly holds power here._

Now Kiku truly began to panic. Something could happen to him right there and now; what is was he didn't want to apprehend. Dark Kiku continued smearing blood on his victim's torso, dying this blank canvas in the universal shade of life and death.

Nippon's hand slowly reached for the abandoned knife, gleaming silently close by. His trembling hands grasped feebly around the hilt of the knife, raising it high.

There was a sudden widening in Dark Kiku's eyes; shock, terror, pain. The hand on Kiku's sticky, warm blood chest stopped; a heart skipped. That hand shivered and curled like the limbs of a dead spider, knuckles white.

Kiku's mouth twitched upwards, but just for a split second. The hilt of the knife was sheathed inside Dark Kiku's chest, a spike tore through his back, blood spurting and escaping. The unnaturally black uniform betrayed no sign of the blood, but what was there was dripping on to Kiku's already bloodstained chest.

Legs finally free from the stupefied apparition, Kiku kicked Dark Kiku away. Slowly standing up, Kiku turned to glare at his attacker.

_Are you honestly __**that **__stupid? Do you think this __**toy **__can kill me? I am as immortal as you. And I thought I might point out—_

A gash tore through Kiku's skin, exactly where he'd stabbed Dark Kiku, bleeding with such vigor that Kiku doubled over in pain. On his knees, he caught sight of his double's soulless eyes and smirk like cracked glass soon to smash inwards. The blood began staining his pants and ripped shirt and overcoat like water absorbing into paper.

_You look so beautiful, bleeding to death. Surely you cannot disagree? Do you remember when that __**other **__person was bleeding as you do now? Ah, that was gorgeous, almost as much as you are now._

"Shut up!" Kiku snapped, his voice gravelly. He clutched the wound, begging for it to stop.

_You cannot kill me. I am you; in order for me to perish, you must as well._

"Shut up!!!" Kiku boomed, finding his misplaced sword and sending it flying downwards, wind whistling as it sliced the air. Every ounce of rage, fury, and hatred was poured in that blow, all of his frustrations he'd kept pent up for so long. Now they were erratic and free, overflowing and full of homicidal intent geared towards the being he hated most of all.

He stopped.

The blade hovered just centimeters over Dark Kiku's neck, trembling with his wilted hands.

"Stand up," Kiku ordered. He found his enemy's sword, throwing it to his side where it clattered loudly, clamoring with the painfully silent night air.

Dark Kiku gladly acquiesced, wrenching the dagger from his chest and hurling it over the ship's where it could be heard splashing dully, stifled by the silence. He, too, began to regain his feral fighting stance. Knees bent and standing with his feet wide apart, he gripped the hilt of his sword with amateur familiarity, eyes boring, demented, into his prey.

He felt to need to be restrained; fair warnings were fleeting and honor was shattered to pieces. Just for this fight could Kiku unleash his full fury, lashing and striking blindly, without focus.

They leapt side-to-side, birds with high energies, winged creatures without purpose other than the intent of one to maim and the other to dispel.

Their katanas clashed together, the blood from the impact recoiled from their bodies and splattered on one another. Kiku scowled in fierce, bestial concentration as their swords clashed and clanged like lightning against tin. Dark Kiku preferred feinting and striking with explosive force at unpredictable moments while the more collected Kiku reacted perfectly and weaved his sword like a conductor's baton to parry and return blows.

_Hah…you're rather mad now, aren't you? It's times like these that you begin to become the thing you hate! _Dark Kiku taunted with a supercilious charm. He poked out his tongue childishly at his old rival.

Kiku's eye muscles twitched in irritation, feeling rage at his enemy's downplaying of the situation. He sent an unexpected blow to Dark Kiku's right, catching his sword in fierce defiance to his petty ways. Kiku and Dark Kiku once again became caught in their mindless dance, swords flinching and creating sparks like unruly flint.

"Why won't you just leave me alone?! All these years of trying to suppress you and dispel your self-destructive ways… Why do you exist? Must I be tormented just to delight you? Is there some other ulterior motive for your existence?!" demanded Kiku as their faces were parallel to each other, several centimeters apart.

_I exist because all people have multiple facets to their personalities, my love. I am one of many. But I am also the most prevalent and important in your existence as a nation. Japan, you and I, as well as the other nations have dark sides to them as well, _Dark Kiku explained. His was calm, but what a poor façade it was.

_But you, Nihon, have the darkest and most despicable facet of any nation. I am someone you helped to create. _

Tears of denial welled up in Kiku's eyes.

"That's not true," he began.

"LIES! ALL YOU KNOW AND SPEAK ARE LIES! I AM AND WILL NEVER BE YOU!" Kiku screamed, slashing the sword before him to put emphasis on his oath.

Dark Kiku giggled innocently, darkly.

_You can never deny me, _his voice dipping low. _I love you so much, my dear._

"I hate you more than I can bear!" Kiku spat, rejecting the dark apparition's confession.

He ran blindly forward, running the sword through Dark Kiku. However, he disappeared in a flurry of red petals.

Kiku stood, dumbstruck. A stray tear dripped from his cheek to the hardened ground. The petals scattered and skittered across the deck, floating unremorsefully into the mirror-smooth ocean.

Kiku slumped to the ground, sword clanging loudly out of a feebly loose grip. His fingers touched and absently curled around one of the only remaining petals. Soft and smooth, it possessed the texture of any ordinary flower.

Suddenly, he felt something warm and sticky in his fisted palm. Opening it, a small pool of crimson blood sat quietly like inseperable mercury.

Kiku looked, defeated, at the pool. There was never going to be escape from this red liquid; ever. It would become as familiar as breathing and as unforgettable as his first near-death experience.

Lower lip harshly bitten, Kiku failed to restrain a choking sob. His eyes struggled to remain open, wobbling with impending tears.

The last sound the night heard was a scream of defeat, hatred, and immeasurable sadness and regret.

_I really hope that you live to see happier days, Mr. Honda. I hope you and I can learn more of each other and become even better friends. No words can express my regret over the predicament you are in and I pray for your safe return. _

_Please remain strong; that trait in you is what makes so many attracted to your presence. I know the future will be bright and that is why I will never stop praying for peace._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Toris Lorinaitis_

* * *

Last thoughts: Well, I have you a long chapter to make up for the last one. I really hope you like it; I think I worked pretty hard to make it good, so I hope you enjoyed it.

April 1904 marked Japan's second or third month into the Russo-Japanese War. On 13 April 1904 Japan decided that endless bombardment on Port Arthur was doing nothing to weaken the Russian's strength; it was quite a deadlock. So Japanese naval men decided to lay mines over a wide swath and lure them out with a few weak looking decoy ships. This proved successful and mortally wounded many Russian ships who dared venture out, maybe even sinking a few.

So, what did you think of my interpretation of Dark Kiku? I liked the thought of him being a physical being instead of just an annoying voice in his head or an actual personality shown on the real Kiku. Don't ask how I came up with the idea of Dark Kiku raep—I mean, seducing the real Kiku. I thought that since Dark Kiku is everything Kiku isn't (or afraid to become) that he should try to show Kiku why he's such a domineering 'personality.' I'm thinking of Dark Kiku making many more appearances since he has potential to really make the story move along or create tension/conflict.

The theme song for this chapter? "Meltdown" by Kagamine Rin, the Hard R.K. mix. It's kind of crooked and mad, just like Dark Kiku (or is that just me…?).

In case any of you are wondering, Lithuania is in love with Russia –le gasp- which explains his sentiment against China. He wants Japan and China to be together so he can have Russia again…or at least separate the little Commie pairing. By the way, it's not that Yao's a player, it's just the symbolic history Hetalia is so well known for. China's (Communist) government was created by people inspired by the Communist movement in Russia so Stalin (ain't he a doll –rolls eyes-) decided to help the Communist movements despite openly supporting the Nationalist leader Chiang Kai-shek during WWII. Russia did quite a lot to assist in China's transformation into a Communist country, however, animosity began to grow in their differences of their ideal visions of Communism and led to shaky relations.

Phew! By the way, if you've checked out my profile you might have seen the announcement for Funeral Rush to be turned into a three-part series. Funeral Rush: Blossom Storm is the 20th century from Japan/China's POV; Funeral Rush: Winter Inferno is the 20th century from Russia/America's POV and finally. Funeral Rush: Sombre Aria is the 20th century from Germany/ Prussia's POV. Check out my profile for the full story!

Thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews; they always make me want to do better!

By the way: Happy Sakura Hanami Season! Where I am the blossoms are in full bloom and are rather beautiful.

As always, review, review, review!


	13. Milk Lust Forest, 我悲慘的朋友

_All alone, cold fields you wander_

_Memories of it, cloud your sight_

_Fills your dreams, disturbs your slumber_

_Lost your way, a fallen knight_

* * *

How long had it been since he last thought something? In this pale darkness he waited, waiting for a sign of light to stir within him. He searched and searched for a familiar face only to be met with his own cold dissenting voice. Once, he had been strong. He had once been someone admirable and strong. And yet, now he was but an empty vessel with no purpose except to roam the earth as all lost souls do.

There had once been sparking vitality in his eyes; a youthfulness the moon envied bitterly, the West far from grasping him. The desire to protect his family, his precious guardian and siblings, had once been great, almost indisputable among those who saw him. Somewhere along the tumultuous road of his life that passion to protect those dear to him had evaporated slowly like a waning pond in times of drought. Now he had was this unquenchable thirst for something unexplainable. He wanted to be independent and free, to see the world in all its glory, to see it with that precious person. But the hands of Fate's abysmal clock refuse to turn to fortune and instead are forever affixed to omen's lusty gaze. Maybe there could be a way to change it, to defy natural order just so he could return to his beloved, the man older than time itself, older than a living memory, a living relic. But he knew that would never be possible for destiny and fate were both devious schemers and together had concocted a conspiracy against him. There was no fighting it; it would be like trying to decapitate a river's swelling head when all it ever was is indefinable life. Life and death complement each other and yearn for each other's company, but their scorned interaction would be the end of them both, just as the world seemed to want. This is what Kiku felt about himself.

Kiku's hands did nothing. They hung limply by his sides as he sat kneeling in the pool of his amassing blood, clothes becoming stained as ink seeps into the thin fibers of parchment. His eyes were blank, almost rheumy, as he stared into oblivion's cunning eye, ignorant to the rest of the world. The pain he should've been feeling up to this point should have been unbearable; he should have been screaming like a hare caught in death's jaws. His once pallid and smooth complexion was marred by the scraps and bloodstains of his fierce battle with him abhorred apparition. Just as the moon and sun can't stand the other's presence he hated that dark side of himself.

The night had nothing to say. A soothing wind tugged forlornly at his hair like a child would their despondent parents, immature minds fraught with worry. Voices in the stars said nothing; instead they could only offer their distant flickers of light. The lights that regularly shone upon the cold deck were now alight in carmine delight, viscous red braced in place, growing. The great navigational tower of the ship loomed high over him, coating him in blackness the lights could not shoo away.

_Please, don't die. I couldn't stand if you did. You must live!_

Refuting the voices, Nippon's body was torn between succumbing to an eternal slumber and escaping the pain with animalistic fear as all beasts do when bored with the eyes of an impending predator. And yet he chose life, remembering that promise he made long ago with his family, people he had no blood relations to and yet shared several lifetimes worth a memories. And he had to live for that person's sake…that person he cared deeply for and yet he felt his attraction was wrong.

A foot sifted through the pooling blood, than a knee jerked, and a leg muscle braced. Slowly his body moved, streams of burgundy flowing off his body like he was a river delta, fanning away the life force he so desperately needed. With deliberate slowness he was now upright, feet spread afar, knees bent and back arced limply. His head lifted, bleary eyes focusing on the blackness, the light, the wind, yet seeing almost nothing clearly.

He took a step. One measly step and already electric sensations, a buzzing and throbbing, recoiled throughout his body and paralyzed him to stillness. The childish wind caressed his face, encouraging him to continue. Another step, another lacing of pain, another wish for Der Todd's prim kiss into the underworld.

Thousands of years ago a man touted as a messiah fell on the rocky path to Golgotha. Kiku did as well; face connecting with merciless steel, a loud and sickening thump slapping his body to stillness. A stifled gasp escaped beyond disciplined lips, listless eyes sparked into realization of the present. He glared with revenge at his distant goal, the desire to scream profanities at anyone capable to listen mounting higher and higher.

With costive speed he pushed his hands beneath him and forced himself to rise, his wounds crying like battered souls in protest for his actions. His knees folded rightly as he gathered himself up, a pool of blood staring dejectedly like pouting children to their parental abrasions. Forcing himself to stand, he began walking once again, his dreams and wishes shushing the caterwauling pains.

For what seemed like an interminable distance he trudged, the passage below decks nearing closer and closer. The stairs proved to be a challenging descent, but he was beginning to regain his strength, the prodding urge to live compelling him to healing.

Once in the quiet darkness he skirted around memorized obstacles and avoided low hanging impediments, the mazes of the water-logged base committed to memory. He made way down a particularly familiar corridor to the place he needed to be.

On a small slat of metal gleamed the kanji indicating that this room was indeed the infirmary. The hatchway inside, with its high threshold and narrow width, proved somewhat of a challenge for his weakened state. Had Dark Kiku kept to the shadows this wouldn't be a problem, Nippon reflected bitterly. But of course, there would be no obstructions, no fetters in his life, without the existence of Dark Kiku.

The infirmary was a modest room. Floors slated by cold metal, a common accessory for ships, gleamed faintly. The walls were a conglomerate of metal snakes and tightly bound wires of varying thickness and girths, worms slithering beside their snake counterparts. A desk in one corner, a plank of wood serving as its surface, was buried beneath scattered files and other important documents. A revolving chair affixed to the wall sat empty of a medical specialist who should have been there. Looming file cabinets towered over the desk, locked tight from prying eyes. To the left was a line of six or seven ramrod straight hospital beds with several pieces of medical apparatus overshadowing the beds swathed in thin white linens. An operating table of bone-chilling metal, levered to curve to a human's body shape, rested in the center, a nosy lamp of rather large proportions looming overhead.

Kiku stepped warily over the threshold, careful to avoid tripping. He walked around the operating table with snail-like speed, proceeding towards the small alcove of a bathroom. Grabbing several rolls of bandages from a wardrobe brimming with a plethora of medical supplies he headed towards the bathroom.

The bathroom was small and stifling. An inlaid tin bathtub lay next to a crude excuse for a Westernized toilet as he'd ever seen as well as a hulking sink deposited in a metal counter. Bulbous pipes threatened to bump his head upon unwariness, several strips of wire boring into the walls peeking out in their muted color of asparagus.

Kiku began to slowly peel off his clothes, staring with the garnet coat and undershirt, both in tatters thanks to a certain person's perverted and sadist tendencies. He unbuckled the belt, unwinding it from the belt loops, progressing to remove the pants and other undergarments. He then pulled a towel around his waist for the sake of modesty, trembling fingers turning the water dial with forced precision until water began gushing out loudly, steam quickly filling the room and clouded the single small mirror and circular window.

Once it was filled he poked his toe in the swirling waters to test the temperature. Satisfied with it, he yanked off the towel and eased himself into the water, wincing and hissing sharply as the water rinsed over his wounds, displaced blood quickly dying the water an unsettling red. Disgusted by the scent and color, feeling the urge to retch, he calmed himself. Glancing over the side he could see a tale-tell trail of burgundy clearly showing to him where he'd been. He sighed; he'd have to clean that up or risk an interrogation by "concerned" officials who would no doubt how he'd come acquire such nasty wounds. Their first thought would be that he's impaled himself to escape the war. If only they knew.

Raising himself from the splashing water, lashing some over the side and splattering blood-red water on the floor, he perched himself on the tub's edge. Finding the several rolls of bandages he'd brought in with in him, he began unwinding a length. The long red river tearing down his chest as well as the stab wound was bleeding profusely, dripping into the water like a languid mountain stream. Choking the largest wound out with towels, he began wrapping the bandages around his torso, layer after layer after layer. The blood was at last contained, the bandages swelling in their absorbencies of it. An amateur in the realm of medical sciences, he took several thick strips of spongy sloth and pressed it against the laceration before encircling the lower part of his chest with even more bandages. Hopefully that would hold. If not… Let's not even tread there, shall we?

Kiku, now finished, took a sponge and began wiping away the remainder of the blood from his lithe body, feeling a little better now that most of the blood was gone if not contained. He stood up and snatched a pair of sagging myrtle pants and hauled them upwards, girdling a belt around his waist. He found a large button-up shirt and pulled it on, fastening it all the way to the last button so as no overly curious naval personnel could peek down his collar and sneak a look at his bandages. At least that's what he hoped would happen.

Now that he was done cleaning himself up, he drained the tub, running the water and scrubbing it until no trace of blood was left. Taking a mop he began swiping up the trail of blood he'd left so obviously out to be seen, all the way to the decks. To his unexpected pleasure a heady drizzle began pouring down, washing away all traces of the battle and the blood loss resulting from it. Well, that was taken care of.

Returning to the infirmary, Kiku decided that staying the night would be for the best, for his heath that is. The beds looked fairly uninviting to sleep in, but he had no choice. Placing the mop away in its place he walked placidly over to the bed, ready for the relief of sleep.

He propped some pillows, fluffing them. Leaning heavily back, he sighed tensely, warily shutting his eyes.

Wait, were infirmaries supposed to sound like there was someone close by, breathing? Was there some medical implement leaking oxygen or something?

And he was fairly sure that the hairs on the back of your neck shouldn't prickle when you're all alone, right?

Kiku propped himself of his elbows in mild alarm, glancing around the shadow-infested room. Too easily could someone hide. Throwing off the thin linen sheets, Kiku's feet touching the ground, wrapping said blanket around his shoulders, he walked carefully to a certainly suspicious corner.

There he found the door to a small closet. Flinging it open, something heavy toppled itself on him.

A mass of matted, yet lustrous, black hair flowed over a face and small set of shoulders, a plain dress of an ugly color spread wide over his body. The person's weight was slight, yet still bore heavily on his sensitive wound. Kiku bit back a hiss of pain.

Suddenly, he realized who it was, the person's eyes lighting up in adorable recognition.

"Mei mei?" Nippon gasped, the girl's face shooting up and her shocked expression dissolving into a tired smile.

"Er-ge…" she murmured, her voice weak and exhausted. Kiku quickly rose, scooping Taiwan in his arms and carrying her over to a bed adjacent to his. She coughed violently, rising into a raspy whooping cough. Her skin held a deathly pallor, eyes dull and lifeless, small smile lifting with exhausted spirit. She looked emaciated, not yet starving, her body having lost several pounds of healthy weight. Her face no longer shone healthily like he last remembered.

He'd been gone for several months, almost a year; of course she would've changed much during that time.

Kiku leaned at her side, stroking her cheek with bewildered concern. What was she doing here? How did she smuggle herself on this ship? Too many questions begged for release. But now wasn't the appropriate time; his sister was weak and needed his care.

She weakly held his hand, turning her head to cough; it was almost as if with each cough a little of her strength was drained away. She turned again to face her brother, eyes locked listlessly to his.

Clutching her hand, Kiku whispered, "What are you doing here? Mei Mei, you shouldn't even be here! I thought you were home, safe."

Taiwan coughed raspy again. "Er-ge, things aren't very good in my home. Just look at me!" she sobbed, glancing down at her shivering body. "My people are confused; they don't like being occupied by yours…"

"I wish I could do something, Mei Mei, but I am powerless. Is there anything else I can do to help you?" This was painful, so painful; for how long must his family suffer under his hand?

Taiwan turned away to stare blankly at the ceiling. She pulled her hand away from Kiku's, resting them on her stomach.

"I want things to return to the way they were. I want you to return to your old self. I don't like what you've become, Er-ge," she whispered, averting her eyes from Kiku's.

"That's not the first time I've been told that," Kiku said, slumping to the ground, pulling his knees close to his chest, resting his chin on his kneecaps. He remembered his Ge Ge's words from almost ten years before.

"It's no secret that the Koreas hate me as well, isn't that true?" he asked, ignoring the burning of his liaisons.

Taiwan meekly nodded, her fingers raking absent-mindedly through her long hair, skipping over the single wild curl that never stayed in place.

"I won't say what they've been saying about you," she said quietly.

"I think I already know," Nippon said, smiling sadly. No wonder they hated him; they were being occupied and treated mercilessly by his bastardized people. Combining the respective cultures of Bushido and of Europe, the conduit the lust for power, and this is what you got.

"Mei Mei, do you hate me as well?" he asked, eyes nearly sinking closed to chase away tears, smiling faintly. There was no happiness behind that smile, however.

Taiwan rose up, her eyes filling up with tears. She sprang off the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, chest pressed warmly to his back, hair cascading over their shoulders.

"I can never hate _you, _Er-ge! I—"her voice balked, pressed down by a choking sensation in her throat. Her tears flowed intensely now, a blubbering noise escaping her lips.

That night, they world stopped for them both. They knew what was to come, they knew the dangers. And yet they refused to grace upon the subject; Japan worried over his sister's weakened constitution and she for his heart, the heart torn asunder by bullets and slashing swords.

An oasis is place in the middle of somewhere desolate where a small sanctuary of life flourishes around a water source, a place where those weary from the eroding sands of time can revel in this petite haven of life before trekking again on an impossible journey.

Sleeping next to each other, Taiwan carefully tended over by her brother, they sank into a fitful sleep, tossing over dreams and turning over fears. Reflexively their hands stretched across the narrow gap separating their beds, their fingers lacing together, warmth spreading to them both. For as long as it lasted, this was their oasis.

Would there ever some a day that he could rid himself of this perpetual hate?

* * *

_Hope dies, and you wander_

_The otherworld, it makes you_

_Dreams, they rip asunder_

_The otherworld, it hates you_

* * *

Last thoughts: Chapter thirteen, at long last! I really liked this chapter despite the apprarant lack of noteworthy plot… Sorry about that. This is what I call a "settle down" chapter that comes after a a huge event/battle/etc., the likes of which we saw the last chapter. Oh, yeah! By the time this chapter is posted I'll have concept art for a few chapters up and will keep getting updated; check it out if you have the time~ It's basically how I view a few of my favorite scenes. I will accept requests, by the way.

In terms of historical relevance, between the years of 1895-1945 Taiwan (Formosa at the time) was ceded to Japan and lived under colonial rule. Despite the euphemized version I found in my school's history textbook, the occupation wasn't sunshine and daisies. There was the usual stuff: comfort women, anti-Japanese sentiment, bits of guerilla warfare here and there dotted by small outbursts from citizenry. A talented citizen politician named Goto Shimpei believed that the Taiwanese people shouldn't be completely assimilated and instead incorporate laws around their culture and the ideals of Japan for their colony instead. But, lo and behold, Prime Minister Hara Takashi thought that because Taiwan's people were so similar to Japan's that they be "absorbed." (That sounds…icky)

The reason I had Taiwan pop in was to maybe touch upon Taiwan during this time as more than just an adoring little sister; her colonization must've been brutal to a degree like the rest of the Asian countries who were clumped to the Japanese empire. Oi, and when I get to the Koreas…it definitely won't be a happy family reunion, that's for sure.

Okay, next chapter with be the mine plot and then start upon the final operation of this war and then we'll briefly touch upon the first World War…which really doesn't involve Asia too much so that will probably only be a chapter. Rather, it will be the prelude on Japan's government that will begin out major arc.

Okay, as for credits, I want to thank **Hikari Kame** for graciously taking up my offer to beta this story. If anyone else notices a few quirky things, like characters' mannerisms and their dislogues, just PM me or mention it in your review! The two indented lyrics at the top and bottom are from Nobuo Uematsu's Otherworld, just so you know.

Thanks to all of you awesomesause reviewers and readers; hope you liked the chapter!

As always, review, review, review!


	14. To Reminisce Would Be Paradise, дорого

_I whispered to you, who held the moon_  
_I want to dance with you in this powdery snow_

_Your final season has nearly reached its end_  
_My last tears gather in my eyes, let's return to this fine snow_

_Become the snow that you embraced_  
_Scatter these ever growing feelings, dance wildly_

_

* * *

_

This was betrayal.

This was mutiny.

Red roses don't bloom for any one person; they bloom for all. And yet his heart was a blooming rose trapped in the scarf of a Russian winter.

The cold should be unpleasant; it should burn and sting and blind. And yet it's so easy to loose yourself in the Russian winter, to stare into the incessant white squalls as if they were fluffy white clouds with grey undersides, lifting your mind to heavenly heights and sending your dreams high aloft. The winter was as immeasurable as a silt-ridden river, and yet, like the darkness it was perfect for quiet and dark contemplation.

It really was his fault.

If he wasn't so difficult and impossible, this would never have happened.

If he had just remained as he was, the perfect little recluse he was, this wouldn't be a problem.

If he would've just turned them away, sent their white-clouded ships back to where they came, there wouldn't be need for regret.

Yao's eyes blinked once, twice, batting rapidly. He jarred himself from his oblivious stupor, whisking his head side to side for added effect. Stiff joints practically groaned in the silence, pressed clothes folding and wrinkling to the shape of his petite body.

"Ivan-laoshi," he called with a forced expression, tired, "are you done yet? I thought you'd be done by now—"he yawned "—aru."

Delightful little snickering giggles emanating from a deceptively far-off room flowed through China's ears, his humors brightening a bit at the sound of the person who had been filling his normally empty life with meaning of late.

_Wait, didn't __**he**__ used to do that?_

_No, idiot, he was…just…_

"моя любимая дорогая!" came the Russian's expectant call, the cheerfulness something he hadn't heard from him in weeks. Whatever he had must be worth his interest and Yao knew that tone usually involved him or something fulfilling his sadistic side. And, knowing Russia since the 17th century, Yao knew that it would probably be something sadistic.

"I'm coming!" Yao returned, putting forth a cheerful front.

…_He's just a traitor! He stole Taiwan…and the Koreas will soon follow…_

_Is he truly doing it for __**that**__ purpose?_

No retorts, as usual.

* * *

Even in a decrepit old dress such as the one she wore, his sister still retained an admirable vigor. She had always been strong, maybe naïve, but still someone never to underestimate.

He still never gleaned from her the reason for her sudden, unknown, departure. There was no personal mission, he assumed, for her to be present among their numbers. And a young woman in the midst of dozens of sexually deprived young men… He didn't wish to go there.

After a struggle with a sleepless night, morning gave an excuse for release from the stifling infirmary.

Convincing her well, she now wore an unappealing naval uniform and cap, her hair stuffed hat-ward. She looked the part of an adorable young boy, and Kiku treated her as such. Not as an underling, rather like a younger brother.

Doing so sent into a brief bought of nostalgia, his mind reminiscing back to the days when Yao-ge used to be his affectionate older brother, coddling and teaching him well. Yao-ge had always been so earnest and strong, yet he always buried his feelings. Raising children had made him accustomed to loneliness and deprivation from normal activities, secluded with his children, had driven him internally mad. And yet he genuinely loved them all, sacrificing his life for something so ennobling was a worthy enough cause to live a large portion of his life as a mother.

As Japan grew older, something in what would be considered his early teens, he took it upon himself to take on some of the burden of raising many of the new fledgling nations younger than he from Yao's ever-strained shoulders.

North Korea and Hong Kong were something of outcasts compared to the more rambunctious Taiwan and South Korea. North Korea-di was quieter and more reserved, his nose buried within scrolls or fingers weaving beautiful sounds on any instrument he could get his hands on, garnering the praise of Japan who applauded such endeavors. Hong Kong-di had taken after Yao-ge much more, taking a keen interest of pyrotechnics and martial arts, gleaning whatever knowledge he could from whatever source he could find. The pyrotechnics sometimes got out of hand, leading to scorching remarks from the matronly Yao-ge. Japan tried to calmly assess the situation, a little more sympathetic to the silent island nation than the energetic mainland.

Together they had become close in their youth, but nowadays it was a little different. North Korea had decided to detach himself from the family and only made contact if a situation involved himself or his brother, especially his younger brother. South Korea may be a real prankster and troublemaker, but North Korea adored him dearly and regarded him as worth dying for.

Over the years Hong Kong began gravitating towards Yao-ge who had by then picked up on Hong Kong's hobbies, enticing the small island nation with lessons in Kung Fu and other martial arts as well as a generous share in fireworks. A friendship between the two had been made and Japan was left to fade into the wispy shadows.

Luckily, Taiwan by now had begun to tire of the overprotective Chinese man and struck out on timid beginnings with Japan, deciding that he would be her new older brother. Their relationship had been awkward at first, but then Japan found that she was in pleasant company and decided that the sunny girl was just what he needed to bring some cheer into the humdrum of his life.

But she was no substitute for the blossoming love he felt for his true guardian.

Being at the time an irrational teenager, no mind for consequences, he tried anything to get his "crush's" attention, resorting to many stupid attempts to facilitate even a smile of approval.

O_nce, when he had gotten his very own sword, he was so proud and excited he decided to show off. Yao-ge had been growing, at the time, a small patch of bamboo reeds that were growing splendidly. It was actually the place where China had found Japan so many years ago. Japan having been ignorant of this and had been near to bursting at the thought of what he wanted to do._

_Sword shining in the mid-morning sun, Japan's eyes closed in preparation, sword held and gleaming eagerly, he took the first swing. He had sliced through the first shoot with a perfect diagonal slice, the shoot cut asunder like it was made of something frail like flower's petals._

_Feeling a rush of adrenaline and elation, he couldn't restrain himself. Cutting through all the shoots in the mini-forest, each with the precision of a sushi chef master, each shoot fell. With his sword poised like it had all the others, the katana lobbed through the last shoot and as it fell an almost feminine scream cut the air as his sword had the forest of bamboo, startling Japan badly._

_Japan turned, shocked, around to have his eyes meet China's, the older nation's hands cupped over his mouth in horror and his eyes transfixed to Japan's. South Korea and Hong Kong's eyes were staring straight ahead, the captive audience. Not even pre-teens, they gripped the ornate screen door apprehensively, like toddlers anticipating a shout-out between their parents._

_China rushed over, dress-like outfit billowing as he practically dashed over to Japan, eyes affixed to the organic carnage before him. Those topaz eyes wobbled with tears, lids squeezing shut._

_Head and ponytail whipped around, an accusatory glare shot at Japan._

_"What have you done," he began quietly._

_"What have you done?" China screamed louder. Japan lowered his head in shame, unable to explain himself, sword losing some of its shine as if it were ashamed as well._

_"What stupid idea crawled into your head and told you to do this? This garden was precious to me! How dare you!" he spat, long sleeved hand slapping across Japan's cheek, staggering the younger nation, who did nothing to retaliate._

_"You're the oldest! You should be more responsible! No one else is like you! No one else would do such a thing! Why, Japan?" he demanded fiercely, eyes blazing and enraged._

_Silence answered for him._

_"Why can't you be more like everyone else? They listen; they're all good children! But you… Why do you have to be so different?" Yao practically screamed, mouth moving vapidly._

_"You're right. I'm sorry for what I've done. I've dishonored you and my siblings. There's only one thing for me to do," Japan said, mind plummeting to a dark melancholy, feeling the terrible shame. Undoing his kimono, the top part of the robe sliding off his shoulders, Japan raised the sword to his abdomen._

_"If I'm gone, I won't be a problem, right?" The sword teasingly pressed to his skin, drawing blood. Hong Kong and South Korea watched in horror, the newly arrived Taiwan had her hands cupped over her mouth, tears drawn from her eyes. Only the restraint of her brothers kept herself from throwing herself at her two older brothers._

_Something unexpected happened._

_"STOP!" China cried, lunging himself at Japan. His hand adroitly seized Japan's sword wielding hand, keeping the blade away from vulnerable flesh._

_They toppled to the ground, China's body sprawled over Japan's. The smaller teenager was dwarfed by the older nation, the bulbous dress robes fanning out and blanketing them both. China's arm was wrapped around Japan's neck while his fingers around Japan's hand smartly unclenched the teen's grip on the sword and then seized it, throwing it away. The sword landed a little ways away while Yao's hand moved around the teen's neck._

_Shocked beyond compare, Japan swallowed, his face fading away to a hot pink. His torso became enflamed as well, but it wasn't because of fever._

_China slowly moved away from the ground, rising slowly up. When Japan was freed, China offered a hand which Japan timidly took, his Gege hauling him upwards._

_From a distance, South Korea was now the one who had to be restrained, by Taiwan and Hong Kong, face burning in jealously at their closeness._

_Once fully standing, China engulfed Japan in a hug, hands to his hair and back, causing Japan to blush once more._

_"Wo ai ni, Riben. Please, no more. You're very dear to me. I didn't mean what I said. Please forgive me; I was mad and I regret it…" Yao said, his endearments completely platonic. Of course, in the hormone-ravaged mind of a young nation, Japan exaggerated it as otherwise._

_Returning the embrace, Japan whispered, "Wo ai ni, Gege. …I'm sorry." Of course, what he said was far from platonic._

_They stood there, holding each other, daring the world to breathe._

* * *

"Would the little Yao like to see what I have?" giggled Ivan, hands grasping a crispy envelope with childish glee.

Yao forced a smile, getting tired of Ivan's childish antics. It seemed Ivan was always trying to invent new ways to irritate him and knowing the tall Russian imbued him with knowledge of why Russia did things and what he did to attain them.

Suddenly, Ivan's arm holding the white envelop flew skywards, a slight giggle stifled by the scarf-clad neck escaped from his lips at his innocent deviousness.

China sighed again behind an amused painted face. This was getting old, but at least Ivan was good to him.

Seeing the only tangible option left, Yao strode confidently towards the tall man and quickly wrapped his arms around the ash blonde man's neck, batting his eyelids flirtatiously. Okay, so maybe marketing himself wasn't the most creative of options but that envelop was starting to look too good to ignore.

Ivan smiled at this and deftly kissed China's cheek in one quick motion, causing him to blush unexpectedly. In the silence only their heartbeats could be heard.

"So you really want to see it, my dear?" Ivan whispered sweetly. Yao smiled and nodded, releasing Ivan's neck so the tall Russian might finally open the envelop.

Contrary to what he'd said, it was obvious that the envelop had been opened, fumbled closed by signature goofy fingers. The address gracing the front was in a sloppy font and in an undecipherable language. Well, even if China did manage to acquire it, using unorthodox methods or not, he wouldn't be able to read it. And that was just more than one way Ivan had an unfair advantage over him.

Cupping Yao's cheek in his glove, he then removed it too quickly for Yao's liking to re-open the package. Throwing away the envelop and unfurling the letter, he looked anxiously at China. And yet this wasn't a negative emotion; it was one more of excitement.

Cuddling Yao close to his side, he began to summarize the content of the manuscript.

"According to this letter, I will be going via train to the war front at Port Arthur to help reinforce morale of the troops and navy men as well as assist in strategy. Once that has been fulfilled I will either observe or participate in the battle regardless of the outcome, da?"

Yao's eyes widened. "I don't want you to fight!" he said pleadingly, shooting Ivan a heartrending look. "I want you to be safe…" He faltered.

Ivan's eyes softened. "Will you come with me?" he said softly, voice melting like honey.

"Yes!" Yao said, breath coming out ragged in tightening anxiety. He clutched his heart. "I'd go anywhere with you~aru!"

Russia smiled tenderly. "Do you…love me, my lovely dear?"

"Yes, more than anyone!" China cried, eyes overflowing with emotional tears. "I love you, I love you, I love only you~aru!"

Ivan seized Yao in his arms, passionately kissing him. China explored the younger's hair, gripping him in a fierce cling. He returned the kiss with just as much force…but all he could feel was the achingly satisfying lust. It felt different from when he kissed…that other person.

_You liar! You despicable traitor! How could you? Why are you lying so passionately? You __**lust **__for Ivan; there's no love! _

_I'm doing this…so I can finally have a chance at happiness. Loving a former child and now enemy is too painful!_

_You're condemning yourself for more tragedy, you know that?_

_His being is too painful._

_Yours is just as much._

_Please, leave me alone…let me experience this for just a breath longer._

_You don't know what you are doing. _

_I know…I know._

_

* * *

_

**May 27****th****, 1905, 2300 Hrs.**

His heart beat with rampant disarray, sweat cooling his already freezing hands, throat swallowing in nervousness at every opportune moment.

Already it had been over a year; a tumultuous year at sea, occasionally stopping in safe harbor to restock and repair both man and machine. The cargo hold was bursting with the many supplies the navy men believed they needed, some not even necessary and forgotten in the careful documentation of the myriad of logs and other such records.

Taiwan had almost forgotten what it felt like to caress jaded grass, to loose her gaze among lazily floating clouds, to run through the warmest of places freely and without a care in the world. But now her grass was metal, the clouds ever stiffening with dull greys, and she now walked through iron corridors listlessly, completely aware of her confinement.

As Japan's model colony, the high-ranking officers took this fleeting opportunity to cram her mind with every scrap of Westernized knowledge they could, her mind filled with gears and guns and flowing diagrams.

The only person who made her feel any homey comforts was her Er-ge. They spent evenings reminiscing, carousing among old and happy memories, trying to summon times when everything had a semblance of peace.

But now, at the climax of this painfully long war, things were coming to an end.

The mines placed at the gates of Port Arthur more than a year before had worked splendidly, one of many successful campaigns against the Russian fleet.

However, that night when Dark Kiku had first appeared remained fresh in Japan's mind as if it had happened just minutes before. It haunted his dreams, his deep scars screaming in their eerie chorus. Taiwan had no idea who Dark Kiku was and Kiku hoped it would remain that way.

Now they soon to make way to land, their crew's very first land campaign, and what the superiors hoped it would be, quite possibly the last.

"Honda-sama, are you ready?" a voice of a lowly private inquired concernedly. Kiku nodded and patted the shoulder of the man, no, boy, who had been kind enough to ask how he was doing.

They were sitting in densely compacted rows of sweating and stinking men, bucking and jumping with the waves that roughly bullied their seemingly small craft. Waved buffeted them sharply this way and hurled them that, the small and constrained efforts of the men rowing them towards their destination. They were less than ten meters from shore and yet it seemed to take an eternity.

Finally, a lapsing wave pushed them forward, the boat receding and few meters before being firmly grounded in the dense white shores of Russia.

The men scrambled to get out, men tripping over bodies and supplies, trying their best to right themselves. High before them loomed a great mountain range, snowy dunes rising and falling like the white-capped waves they had been battling a few minutes before. A large plain fertile with an over-abundance of snow, causing them all to tremble in the cold, despite their relatively densely compacted military jackets, stretched vastly before them.

Kiku, with his formal white naval uniform, blended in against grey sky and snowy foreground like he was a polar bear.

White wind pummeled them, and they held their ground. Several dozen squadrons of men in similar rowboats soon sailed ashore, increasing their numbers to a few thousand, the combination of those who had been staked out in the cold and those who had just arrived. The sheer number of men swelled the shore, looking from aloft like an invasion of ants over sand.

Japan didn't stand out much, but those who realized who he was scrambled to bow and were sure to use proper honorifics, when in all honesty he really didn't care what they called him. It alienated him even though they were all kinsmen.

"Honda-sama; look," one of the more cordial ones said, a little more familiar than most would've been.

Kiku followed where this man's gaze was going. It then stopped, and he caught his breath.

There, in numbers almost equivalent to their own, were the huskier Russians. But that wasn't what held his gaze.

There, before him, scarf and coat billowing and water pipe encrusted with bone-chilling frost held in gloved hands, was Ivan Briganski.

Even from the magnificent distance that they were separated, Kiku could see Ivan's daring amethyst eyes smoldering like embers boring into him. Ivan turned to his comrades and shouted something in his native tongue, it rising above even the fierce white wind and permeating into the hearts of all those men who could listen.

Kiku turned to his own men, almost feeling impelled to do the same, only he realized that his voice could never be heard. Besides, it wasn't his place to be doing such things. Maybe the Tsar of Russia treated his national representative with quite a lot of respect, but he himself had no leeway in such decisions. Like that one brutal officer reminded him over a year ago, he was a tool of the people. He had no rights in the eyes of those who ruled over him.

Instead, a higher ranking general did that for him. Having come by a ship secretly moored somewhere, he was able to come on horseback.

The general in question was riding a gallant white stallion with the grace of a prancing dressage horse, a French quality of horse popular for its exclusiveness in movement. The galloping steed churned up the sand as the general began shouting words of encouragement, mentioning their filial duty to the emperor and how the war was almost as good as theirs.

That much was true. They really were winning, but at a devastating expense. Many people had died in the advent of modern warfare in Asia, and the national coffers of the government were welling dry. They may be winning, but for a cost that Japan saw as futile.

As the men swallowed their fear and chinked off the safety of their rifles, and they braced themselves for an all out charge.

A screaming order above the wind sounded and the men dug their boots into the sand, kicking up plumes that were scattered by the wind. Thousands of men charged blindly forward, and the enemies took similar aim and charged, rifles in hand. Sun Tzu would've bashed in his head at their terrible battle plan.

Only Kiku remained. He felt weak, drained of life. The last of the men dashed past Kiku, lagging behind somewhat. No one seemed to notice the blank-eyed straggler of a nation, skirting around him respectfully.

This was it; but he didn't know what to do.

Waiting for world's end seemed like a reasonable option.

* * *

Ivan hadn't been filled with this much frenzied delight in the longest of times.

After settling down at the observatory point fairly high in the mountains, Ivan had given a briefing to the senior militia men who would then disperse those orders down the ranks. China had been wrapped cozily in a thick, feminine furry coat, some of the men mistaking him for a beautiful woman. Sharing the tails of Ivan's scarf, wrapping it around the lower part of his face, only Yao's eyes could be seen. Ivan had an arm protectively wrapped around his shoulders, which made him feel a little better in the midst of strange men.

It had taken them almost a year to reach the Russian coast, having come here via intercepted intelligence of the Japanese. During that interlude China had become considerably closer to the Russian, the only thing disturbing him was the nipping cold and the backlash of haunting memories of that person. Other than that, he was rather well.

Once arriving, they had only a week to prepare for the Japanese onslaught.

Yao was silent to all except Ivan, the only one who could grasp the language of China, which Ivan had taken to diligently learning. This provided moments of calm, although Yao was beginning to understand Russian and could understand fragments of the masculine language.

After a week of military stratagem, Ivan had been told that he would have to fight. This worried China greatly, but Ivan's presence there now was reassuring enough.

"I don't want you to go," Yao had pleaded, eyes wide and innocent. Ivan had smiled his gentlest smile, patting Yao's hair.

"I'll be back very soon, my love. I will go into this fight knowing that I am am protecting you and my country." He sounded so noble, like a knight ready to sacrifice himself for his true love.

"Please! Before you go-!" Yao cried. He pulled the ends of Ivan's scarf, wrapping his arms around Ivan's neck, and began to passionately kiss him a bittersweet farewell.

Ivan returned it warmly, and before he released his jade treasure, gently nipped his neck.

"I'll be back before that mark fades, my love," he whispered in Yao's ear. Luckily, no one else was around, preserving the loveliness of the moment for just these two hearts.

"And I'll wait no matter how long it takes for you to return!" China cried as Russia opened the door to leave. Snow began to enter obtrusively with a flurry, ruffling Ivan's ash blonde hair with familiarity. His soft eyes and smile accented the moment perfectly, making China's heart swell with warmth. He wanted to cradle this man, but he had a duty that could not be impeded by one person, even if he loved that person dearly.

Ivan turned away, the heartfelt image of Yao in his mind.

Slowly, as he descended, that softness faded. Ravaging cruelty wracked his heart, filling him with the high sensation of slaughter he adored whenever set before a battle. He was doing it for Yao, and would gladly bludgeon that bastard "brother" of China's if it would win over his heart completely.

Looking down at the water pipe he held with heated intensity, already he could imagine the sound of shattering skulls and the gore that would ensue. Japan would have to rather stupid to dare to take him head on.

Actually, he hoped that would happen.

A new color stained the whitening sand.

Rivers of red ran in trickles over mounds of ice, eroding them in their warmth and freezing in their death. Scores of fallen men on both sides, their bodies grotesquely twisted and maimed, their blood mixing and sending a sickening stench up into the heavens.

Ivan had never felt so elated. He had killed so many, every inch of his person sticky with blood, everything stained and matted by it. He lost count after one hundred, and there was always one to replace one who had fallen, filling him with savage euphoria.

They had fought well, he had to admit, but they were simply no match for the scourge of Russia. This is why Tsar Nicholas II respected him so greatly; besides remembering great lengths of history as all nations could, the brutality he bequeathed upon his enemies held no parallel. He could kill more men than the average soldier, which made the ones who fought by his side feel protected and safe. As glad as Ivan was to insure that a comrade lived to see another day, he really wanted to bash in the skulls of the enemy, only concentrating on every aspect of the kill.

But for once, it had been mindless. The scream of pain ensured that he had killed the enemy soldier properly, and the conveyor belt of victims continued to flow towards his metal bludgeon.

After hours and hours of fighting, only two people were whole enough to continue.

Japan had been a coward through the entire ordeal. Snow was mounting on his skin and uniform from the eastern winds, and yet he didn't feel the cold. He was immovable as a stone Buddha, and now he dearly wished for nirvana.

Ivan was quite close now, closing in on the little nation. The little, stupid nation. How foolish he was in thinking he could defeat Russia, the largest country in the world. How laughable was it that Japan thought he could have China's heart. In was evident from China's numerous professions of love who he wished to spend the remainder of his existence with.

Japan was immobile, as if quietly awaiting his fate. His body urged for fight or flight, but nothing was responding. Was this it? Was he going to die?

Russia was in plain sight now, the snow having calmed and quelled, no longer did it interfere with either of their visions.

The wicked delight in Russia's face was a terrifying spectacle, and all Kiku could do was timidly look up at the face of his would-be executioner.

"Are you ready to die, мышка?" Ivan asked with deceptive gentleness. He really couldn't believe that a year ago he let this little rodent share a seat at his table. Not even Lithuania sat at his table any longer, the traitor harboring fraternizing feelings towards the little archipelago.

Japan said nothing, a faint breeze tugging at his black locks.

Satisfied by his victim's vegetative state, Russia raised the water pipe high, arm putting as much force as he could in the blow.

A loud clang echoed in the frigid silence, loud and startling the European nation, his eyes widening at the third-party predator.

Dark Kiku's sword braced against Ivan's water pipe, the faucet sparking where the two metals met. The one wielding the katana brought the sword full circle, forcing the pipe downwards and away from Kiku.

_How dare you, _Dark Kiku snarled, his face twisted in a savage leer. Standing erect, he glared with such evil that even Russia felt incredibly intimidated.

"Who are you? Why do you look like Nippon?" the Russian cried, utterly shocked by Kiku's look-alike.

Dark Kiku nonchalantly repositioned his gold epaulets, dusting off his black sleeves.

_I am a part of Kiku, you bastard. How dare you try to hurt my love. I shall punish you for it! _Dark Kiku growled, positioning himself in his animalistic fighting stance. Russia did the same, but Dark Kiku's malicious aura was overwhelming him.

Unhesitantly Dark Kiku's sword collided with Russia's bludgeon, capturing the faucet in a deadlock. Recoiling the pipe away forcefully, Russia staggered backwards, almost plopping comically on the snow.

_I will make you suffer! _Came Dark Kiku's raspy-throated threat, it sounding like he was a hoarse ghost. He sent an armada of dashing blows that Russia struggled to parry and counter, Dark Kiku striking with an alarming rate of alacrity.

For the longest of times they were embroiled in a fierce cycle of blows, Dark Kiku striking like a mockingbird protecting its nest, dive bombing and screaming threats to the feline that dare try to devour its precious chicks.

Russia tried to summon strength, but he realized that the battle had drained him of his prowess, him having slain many of the Japanese men.

Dark Kiku realized this and liked the odds of him winning very much, pouring in every ounce of viable strength he had into his flickering metal dance. This wouldn't take long, both of them knew, and the outcome would be obvious.

For an interminable length of time, they fought. Finally, Russia gave in. With one blow from Dark Kiku, Russia was sent reeling backwards, toppling to the ground like a great tree.

From his one good eye not blocked by his mass of hair, Ivan watched, defeated, as Dark Kiku sauntered over to the Russian country. Giving the loser one quick, stoic look-over, a wickedly delighted smile spread over his face.

Taking his sword, he wedged in underneath Russia scarf and flicked his sword hand in one deft motion, sword tearing quickly through the cloth.

_That scarf if precious to you, da? _Dark Kiku said, his voice taking on a condescending tone as he mocked Russia's native tongue.

Russia said nothing as he then whipped away the fastenings of Russia's coat, using the pointy appendage to reveal the thin shirt beneath.

_I will brand upon you why you cannot hurt my darling, _Dark Kiku hissed. Cruelly he slashed the shirt open, the bare chest of Russia rising and falling in quiet breaths.

Just as he had Kiku almost a year before, he rammed the katana beneath Russia's skin, drawing a large amount of blood. Ivan let out a loud howl of pain, Dark Kiku seemingly enjoying it.

_You~will~never~bother~Japan~again~ _Dark Kiku sang teasingly, swiveling the sword with each word sung, a snake slithering down Russia's chest.

Deciding he didn't like Russia awake, Dark Kiku aimed a white-fisted hand at Russia's chest, sinking deep into his gut, doing more than just superficial damage. Russia's eyes rolled back into his head and his head lolled to the side, now in sweet unconsciousness.

Dark Kiku wiped his sword in a spot of snow not ravaged by blood, thus cleaning it. Sheathing it, he walked over to the vegetative true version of himself, squatting down to gently maneuver the boy-nation into his arms, standing up and again to walk away to safety.

_Do you understand, my love? No one loves you more than I do and no one else will ever come to your aid other than I. _Dark Kiku gently kissed the crown of Kiku's hair before disappearing into a raging squall.

* * *

China began to sob hystarically.

He'd seen what Dark Kiku had done to Russia and was so scared and shocked that he crumbled under the wave of emotion. It took two guards to restrain him in futile trying to calm the extremely stressed nation.

Part of him wept for Russia; most of him wept for Russia. And then like yin and yang it flipped to weeping for Japan having been spirited away by the malevolent double.

He cried of hate towards Dark Kiku, hating the demon for stealing and capturing his vulnerable brother…and the person he desperately loved.

He cried for the fact that he really did love Kiku and was living a sin by lusting for Russia. But as a fellow nation, he couldn't help but feel empathy for the Russian man who had cared for him so dearly…and who had shown him love.

He cried because he hated himself for what he was doing, for his inability to remain faithful to one person.

All the things he cried for overwhelmed him. This uncontrollable sobbing overtook him as they guards left the sanctuary of the observatory point to find and rescue Russia.

All he could do now was sit and wait.

All he could do was pray.

All he could do was hope.

* * *

_Become the snow that you embraced_  
_Become the flowers that painted you onto the night sky_  
_I try to be close to you, but you vanish in my grasp... "snow blossom"_  
_Over and over... to the night sky_  
_I kept screaming in hopes that it will reach you..._

_Why do these tears flow and make me want to end this pain?_  
_Your smile is becoming blurry now if I could become the moon that shines upon you_  
_I'd scatter the stars into the night sky_

_

* * *

_

Last thoughts: Guess what? This is the last chapter of the Russo-Japanese War arc! –claps-

In terms of history, it seems China was really ready for a revolution, just like Russia was. The loss of the Russo-Japanese War for Russia meant that Russians everywhere were absolutely livid by the poor state of the government and wanted reform A.S.A.P. and so they revolted…yadda yadda yadda. I'll get more to it later, okay? The next chapter will be the conclusions of the war and Japan will finally get the Koreas…along with two very angry brothers.

In this chapter, I made China they way he is because he knows that in a relationship with Japan would be too painful so he thinks that one with Russia will not only be happier but more fairy tale-ish…kinda like most shojo manga out there. –is a shojo manga addict- I've had the opportunity to talk with a dear friend of mine about relationships awhile ago and she's had a really devoted and current boyfriend cheat on her before but he recovered in the best way possible and now they're really happy~ Kinda what I was basing China's betrayal of Kiku on…only it's going to last longer. On the subject of Dark Kiku...he's the epitome of Imperialism in this story, trying to oust all weakness and protect Japan. But he also messes with Japan a lot since government does what I call "reverse-raping" since they take and take and take from the people to the point of barely survivng at the same time as being bombareded by other country's armies. That's exactly what happened to Japan in WWII. I'll get to it later, okay?

Ah, yes, North Korea! I looked up South Korea on the Hetalia Archives and discovered that initially a premature character design for North Korea existed but was dumped after the fiasco concerning South Korea's character design. He likes music and reading and is pretty quiet, so I decided to use that design for this story's North Korea. I'm even thinking of him and South Korea becoming a couple because Lovino/Romano seems to be pretty popular in itself. I hope you like him.^^

Okay, as usual, some thanks are in order! I really want to thank **Hikari Kame **for the great job on the first chapter she edited and for this one as well! Thankies, Kame-chan~ A big thank-you for everyone's great reviews! Please keep reviewing 'cause I love ya all! By the way, the quotes are from Gackt's Setsugekka, just so you now. It's also the theme song for this chapter so give it a listen if you have the chance~

As always, review, review, review!


	15. Mama Rammed a Lame Lamb Lam, 私の愛

_I am the light soon to begin _

_I am the new hope in the morning _

_I am the darkness, soon to be light _

_I am the rising and the falling_

_

* * *

_

Dark Kiku carried the stagnant form in his arms aboard the ship, teleporting there as if he wasn't a solid being. At least he wasn't human to say the least.

No one was present aboard deck; all had been slain in battle, each man feverishly trying to appease the expectations of the supposedly celestial deity that was supposed to rule them. How pitiful, Dark Kiku smirked.

Kiku started to stir slightly as they descended below deck, the warmer air not truly warm but much better the bitter cold that had been nipping them earlier. Making way to the infirmary, he set his lighter self on the bed he had remembered Kiku resting in after Dark Kiku had affronted the boyish nation.

Dark Kiku scowled at his true self's weakness. If this is how he truly was in the face of adversity then Japan would be doomed. Imperial Japan would be doomed; and Dark Kiku was Imperial Japan. Kiku may be Japan as a whole, but he had no place on the battlegrounds of Imperial gain.

_We shall rule the world, my love, _Dark Kiku promised, stroking the cheek of his beloved. Kiku may hate him, but Dark Kiku knew that Kiku could be easily manipulated; that's why Dark Kiku was born to remedy the irresistible possibility of being conquered that Kiku oozed like pheromones. Of course, Kiku did have a good share of pheromones, making him irresistible to any who pursued him.

"Where I am I?" a small voice cut through Dark Kiku's cloudy contemplation.

The whiter half looked around, eyes dilating like a rabbit's before a venomous snake. He began trembling, eyes filling with a fearful hate.

"What are you doing here?!" Kiku screamed hoarsely. His heartbeats seemed to ricochet throughout the silent room, enthralling Dark Kiku.

_You and I are the only ones aboard. No one can help you but I and without me you shall die, _Dark Kiku informed him coldly, perversely eying Kiku's bare chest before flicking back to Kiku's accusing eyes.

_Can we not call a truce? If you die, I shall as well. Why not glean what healing you can from me? I promise you there is no price…maybe. _Dark Kiku stood up, walking to Kiku's bedside from the chair he had been occupying.

.

Kiku still didn't relax, propped on his elbows, knowing that running would be futile and yet he still wished to get away.

Dark Kiku put a hand to Kiku's forehead, feeling the burning heat. He had a fever of the likes that was dangerous in practically medieval Russia.

"What do you want?" Kiku demanded with forced strength, the only reassurance that he may not be taken advantage of. He didn't recoil badly at Dark Kiku's touch but was still extremely wary. Japan hated to admit that he did need the care of his malevolent self even though it would pose some dangers…

_What I want is you. Ah, if only you weren't injured we could've had a pleasant roll in the hay, _he insinuated perversely. Kiku glared at him strongly, writhing away from his touch in disgust.

Dark Kiku was strongly provoked by this. His hands moved to Kiku's, one gripping him in an arresting grip and then other dangling free. He pinned Kiku's legs under his kneeling ones, looming in darkness over the dominant half.

_I grow tired of your innocuous freezing and dumb looks, _Dark Kiku said with waning patience. _It's no wonder that person grew tired of you._

Kiku couldn't breathe. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes locked with his other self. No words protested for him; his body was immobile and useless. Dark Kiku was right; he was always like this. Paralysis set in on his body, disabling his voice and freezing all movement, even the screaming urge to struggle.

_I like it when you resist. You're so sexy when you resist, _whispered Dark Kiku, summoning the memory of that night so long ago.

"S-Stop…!" Kiku struggled in protest, his hands flexing and twitching, trying to resist his vice. Dark Kiku's eyes dilated in excitement, finally eliciting a reaction from the boyish nation, licking his lips full of lusty desire.

_Do you want me to stop? _Dark Kiku inquired, leaning downwards to teasingly float over Kiku's neck, tongue just barely licking it. Kiku shivered, his body betraying him.

"P-Please…" he whimpered, turning his head away.

_You're too disciplined. It's no wonder your body reacts to the slightest touch, _Dark Kiku purred, beginning to unbutton his coat. He released Kiku's hands to do this, knowing full well that Kiku wouldn't escape. He knew better.

Dark Kiku began to see Kiku in his entirety. Those moist eyes…those hot exhalations…it was enough to make him want to go deeper. There was no need or desire for contradictions. Dark Kiku could no longer hold himself back; there was no stopping this animalistic urge.

His lips made their descent to Kiku's neck, feeling the warm pulsations and the intense burning of that skin. His hands trekked out on their own to explore the boy's hair and neck. Lifting his head, he looked into Kiku's wide eyes. His hands cupped Kiku's cheek almost sweetly before his lips took his hand's place. Why hadn't he done this sooner? This boy's body had an addicting effect on him like China did to opium.

_Admit it, _Dark said as he began raining down kisses on Kiku's neck with fervor, _you've wanted this. _

"Not from you," Kiku growled, not putting up much more of a fight.

_Would you rather have your precious Gege messing you right now?! _Dark Kiku growled, nipping Kiku's neck with a sharp bite.

To this Kiku let a loud cry rip from his throat, hands no longer paralyzed and lunging for Dark Kiku's neck. Both fell to the floor with an alarming clatter, Kiku's fingers tightening their vice around the enemy's neck. To his darkened satisfaction Dark Kiku was clawing and scratching and grasping for release, Kiku not even feeling the choking hold on his own throat, far too high in the lofty levels of enthrallment to give a damn about his own condition.

Dark Kiku choked on his words, gasping for air that wouldn't come. He tried opening his eyes, but the pain was too great. For the first time ever his supposedly weaker half was baring upon him an intense hatred that he hadn't been able to match…yet. So this was Kiku's dark side; a bastard that would maim and harm without discretion for his own condition. That he could see by the encroaching bruises beginning to form on the lighter's neck.

The grip suddenly loosened.

Kiku jerked backwards, eyes shadowed and gaze withdrawn, his hands hanging limply at his sides and sitting on kneeled legs, hovering over Dark Kiku's laying body. Tears streamed unfelt down his face, rising over the high cheekbones and rushing to the earth. His mouth clenched, teeth gnashing in anger over his conduct together.

"What the hell am I doing?" Kiku choked, voice marred by tears and climbing to pressured heights. "Why the hell—"a sob choked out again "—am I doing this?"

Dark Kiku lay, gaping like a dying fish at Kiku's face, slightly unsettled by the stoic boy's splay of emotion.

"You're not worth the kill, "Kiku spat, voice struggling regain control over ungainly tears. "There's so much more I could be doing…I must leave this place."

Dark Kiku began to speak, but faltered, rising forward to slowly embrace the boyish nation. And yet, so sinfully, he was enjoying Kiku's pain, relishing the flavor of his falling strength. Kiku didn't fight or resist, or even feel his dark lock. He simply sat, a hand limply shading his eyes, dams of the weakest level.

_Are you tired of suffering? _Dark Kiku asked as he withdrew from the hug, stroking the side of Kiku's face. The boy didn't respond, a sad listlessness filling his already blank eyes. He seemed to looking through Dark Kiku, although the heat of their contact glowed red on the skin.

As always, Dark Kiku hated being ignored. What was the point of taunting and teasing his favorite victim if he didn't even respond?

_Please, don't look at me like that, _Dark Kiku said, his voice hauntingly identical to that one dearest to Kiku.

Almost conditioned to the sound of that voice, Kiku was snapped from his reverie, eyes wide in adorable familiarity and searching blindly for a person that wasn't there.

"Yao-ge..." he said feebly, barely audible and on the verge of tears. Remembering the words of Toris, he nearly wept, knowing that China was no longer his to love. He belonged to Russia body and soul and Japan was certain that attachment would span for eternity.

Dark Kiku growled at Kiku's now upset state. How dare that faithless nation, despite having raised his beloved kindly, be so traitorous?! Had China no morals? Fine, if that fickle man wished to treat his love this way, despite Dark Kiku's oath to remain in the darkness, he could see that was no longer an option.

_No more, my love, let me show you whom you truly need, _Dark Kiku murmured, his eyelids lowering over smoldering coals. His lips relaxed, preparing for what he was about to do.

Leaning in slowly and deliberately, he gently lowered his lips to Kiku's, hand softly cupping the boy's face. How wonderful it was, Dark Kiku's heart sinfully beating in erratic delight; he actually felt a genuine...love well up within him as he kissed a little deeper. But that wouldn't last very long for he knew how much Kiku hated him. He'd retaliate soon enough, and Dark Kiku knew he was right.

Kiku slowly stirred, his eyes regaining focus from his confused, swirling mind. When everything panned into focus, the sensations that had been muted by a dull stupor eroded and the world came into full focus.

His brows burrowed fiercely down and his mouth bent into a rising frown, eyes blazing with a softened anger. A hand unsteadily rose, fisted, and flew across Dark Kiku's face. The hit connected smoothly and sent Dark Kiku reeling backwards, his body colliding with another of the beds, a sickening thud resounding throughout the stiflingly quiet room.

Dark Kiku had no time to block and Kiku's hit sounded as if he'd hit a solid being.

The Darker half righted himself, slowly collecting himself on steadying legs, looking stoically at the better off Kiku. He felt slightly angered by Kiku's defiance and yet…there was something in that action that made him want Kiku even more.

Kiku glared fiercely at Dark Kiku, daring him to move, growling, "If you ever speak badly of my Gege ever again, I'll make us both bleed like stuck pigs!" plucking a seemingly demure scalpel from a metal bedside table and holding it inches away from his already bandaged abdomen.

Dark Kiku laughed deeply, throwing back his head and cackling in choking breaths. Returning it to an angle to lock Kiku in his demonic stare, he affixed his gaze to Kiku's, the young nation's eyes transfixed to the deadly predator's.

He immediately sobered, mood snatching back into deadly seriousness.

_You wouldn't dare, _snarled Dark Kiku savagely, eyes blackening like a quickly impending storm, words causing his lips to curl in feral.

Kiku let the scalpel touch his skin, the flesh reddening with contact and pressure. He glared at the dark entity with steadfast determination, never wavering or balking under his magnificently evil aura.

Dark Kiku lunged for Kiku, seizing his hand in that all too familiar vice of his, and threw the scalpel across the room where it clattered noisily through the door window, smashing against the glass, creating a web-like mosaic. His hand recoiled back and rested heavily on the side of Kiku, sinking deep into the shallow mattress.

_You are __**so **__sexy, _Dark Kiku said, succumbing to his bestial lust, _and that's why I shall make you mine! _

He slumped downwards, their bodies pressing intense heat against the other, sweat from Dark Kiku disgustingly mixing with the freeze of Kiku's body. It seemed glaring wouldn't do here.

Kiku summoned a blazing strength from within, gathering his arms beneath Dark Kiku's chest, hands pushing him off. His small muscles bulged under the effort, heaving off Dark Kiku with tremendous effort.

Dark Kiku few backwards, tumbling over himself and sprawled upon the floor, in the density of a daze, shocked. But it was temporary for a few seconds later Dark Kiku flipped on to his feet, the points of his fingers touching the floor like the tips of the hyperactive gecko.

Kiku, too, had sat up, now one all fours. He was squatting down, balancing on his toes and the tips of his fingers, poised like a dainty beast for battle. His gaze was still steady, but his pupils were contracting and dilating with the imbalance of building energy in his body. He spring-boarded from the bed, flipping high over the head of Dark Kiku, landing adroitly on his feet like a stable feline. His eyes regarded Dark Kiku as an inferior, an almost arrogant confidence building within.

Dark Kiku's face twitched, scowling at audaciousness, leaping to his feet. He was in a very foul mood at the boy who seemed intent on making their relationship not only unrequited but violent and abusive.

Their eyes spoke where words had no place, daring the other speak, a sign of weakness here.

Dark Kiku made the first move, hands balling into a tiger palm, leaping far like a cheetah's lengthy stride to Kiku's front, sending a blow to Kiku's face, applying the supposed adage that one couldn't train one's eyes. Apparently Kiku had somehow managed to blast that quote to smithereens, deftly avoiding the hit easily. If anything Dark Kiku had managed to hit the air that had once been filled with Kiku's presence, and narrowly missed him.

Kiku took this as his opportunity to strike, hands seizing Dark Kiku's outstretched arm, not only twisting it painfully but falling forward forcefully, causing Dark Kiku to hover for an instant over his blank face before his knee lodged itself it Dark Kiku's gut. Dark Kiku let loose a painful gasp before Kiku used his feet to punt his enemy away a few feet, him landing resoundingly in a forest of medical equipment, scattering them loudly.

Dark Kiku tried to regain his stance, his head bleeding. To his satisfaction, Kiku's was bleeding as well. They weren't mirror images for nothing.

Doing so slowly, at least to him, Dark Kiku barreled out from the ruination, tumbling forward on to his hands to let his legs stretch out and helicopter wildly, kicking away nosy medical apparatuses, and yet Kiku managed to dodge that as well. It was well known that fighting our of provocation and anger were one's downfall while doing it out of self-defense and without personal feelings directing your blows, Kiku fighting in the latter style.

Kiku was now hunched to the ground with the closeness and style of a spider, sending the ball of his foot spinning in order to trip Dark Kiku, doing so with mild succession. Dark Kiku collapsed from the low roundhouse, tumbling away. Both fighters stood up again, forsaking the floor.

Kiku decided that the tiny infirmary was too small for a proper battleground and split from the room, dashing from the room with Dark Kiku hot on his heels. They even bid farewell to the floor, springing in a zigzag pattern, side-to-side, from wall to wall to the top decks, their agility stunning the now awestruck winds. Only a few daring breezes of cold tugged teasingly at their sable locks, causing their bare chests to tremble and shiver in the cold. But the heat of battle soon caught up with them and guided their feet as if they danced on fiery, smoldering coals.

They charged forth once more, Kiku moving first to strike. He leapt into the air, a fist aimed for Dark Kiku's jaw, another for his chest, the last a kick aimed for his gut. The one aimed for his jaw missed, the chest shot just barely connected, and the unexpected gut blow absorbed beautifully and sent Dark Kiku flying. He amended quickly, springing off his hand and landing with flourish on his feet.

The searing wind hissed by his face as he tore forward, his eyes burning away in that mad rush. Strategy lay to rot, abandoned in the dust, the new heir ferocity and moonshine. With these two new emotions goaded him farther forward, madness just ready to make its entrance.

They fought unwaveringly for what seemed to be hours, both chipping away to ragged and exhausted beings.

Kiku's breaths came out his hot gasps, swallowing saliva for his air-torn throat, eyes practically dissolving into tears in an attempt to soothe from Kiku's airy rushes.

Dark Kiku was no worse for wear, the bleeding from their heads frozen from the galling squalls of snow and wind, chilling them where the heat of battle couldn't.

Both were in an identical state, their bodies ready to collapse into a coma if sleep should take them and snow would blanket them. Immortal they were, a little more resilient than most, but they could still die. And their deaths would bring violent revolution in Japan, and most likely an end to the island nations, even if a new representative would be born…

But they were there to live. Death was a subject for another time, a time that all wished would be far off.

Dark Kiku watched as Kiku slumped to the ground, not out yet, but in no condition to fight. He felt complied to do the same, but his gregarious pride wouldn't allow it.

_Why don't you…just give into me. I do love you, you know, _Dark Kiku said, offering some words of what his mind thought of as comfort. His feet jittered on the cold metal deck, frostbite causing them to spasm violently.

Kiku said nothing, at first, than whispered softly, "I hate you."

Dark Kiku laughed weakly, still managing to lace it with a shred of waning confidence.

_Of course you do. But that's what I love about you. You and your attachment to the old ways... It's going to fade away very soon, you know? _His voice was tired.

Dark Kiku walked with a wobbly gait over to Kiku, bowing over to hover over him. His lips gently kissed the crown of hair, the sable halo eclipsed by a menacing shadow.

_I will stay true to my word. I will protect you in times of insufferable war…but at a cost of course, _Dark Kiku scoffed slightly.

The wind picked up and swirled around the black half, consuming him in a whirlpool of white. Once it subsided, red petals danced in miniature flurries to the ground before melting away into droplets of inescapable blood.

* * *

_I am the day, soon to be born_

_I am the light before the morning_

_I am the night that will be dawn_

_I am the end and the beginning_

_

* * *

_

Last thoughts: Gah, I'm sorry for majorly screwing up! For those of you who saw an alert for chapter fifteen's release a few days before, it was a mistake. I accidently pressed a button in the chapter setting that said chapter fifteen was released. I fixed the error shortly afterwards but saw that the alert was released and you were all misled into thinking that I had released a chapter. I'm sorry! It won't happen again, okay?

In terms of plot movement, the next chapter will concentrate on interaction between China and Russia after the guards retrieve the Russian and then will end with treaty signing and the conclusion of the war (finally!). The chapter afterwards will focus on the reunion between Japan and his very pissed off younger brothers, the Koreas. I wonder how it will turn out…?

Anyone else think that Dark Kiku's mentality is…a little messed up? He's imperialism personified and must protect the weak and fairly vulnerable Japan (didn't most Japanese Imperialists think like that?). He loves Japan and loves to make him suffer, but becomes enraged when someone other than himself makes Japan suffer. He's pretty yandere that way (gave me the creeps the way he thinks Japan is "sexy"…). I also wanted to improve upon my hand-to-hand combat writing so that's why I randomly squeezed it in…is that okay by you guys? The fighting style is mixed martial arts that I basically pulled from my mind from shows and video games that I've watched in the past so not much research, really. I'll be more through next time, though.

The lyrics are from _I Am the Day _by Libera. It's also the theme song for this chapter, by the way.

Thanks to everyone who contributes greatly to this story's success, reviewers included!

As always, review, review, review!


	16. The S,c,t,ream of Time and Destiny, 我不明

_In broken dream I wring your neck in my dirty hands__  
__Lights are shining and making flow in the afternoon__  
__I look at your throat jumping under my closed mind__  
__But my eyes are gonna start to cry, shout to pretend_

_Twilight is spreading lights over the horizon__  
__The sun is setting like a swollen eye, bloody inside__  
__Around the world everything I see is dead,__  
__Slowly and slowly melting down without consciousness_

_

* * *

_

"There is is!"

"Easy now, this looks bad!"

"You idiot!"

Fragments of words and feelings wormed their way into Ivan Briganski's dead mind, their frozen words lisping at dying consciousness (ghosting). He struggled to comprehend, to breathe, to understand (living?). There was such a warm paradise in a place so far away from him, filled with sunflowers and hope and love, things always missing in his life (detective).

There was that precious person also, hair flickering between black and brunette, eyes between black and green (Eurasian). He couldn't decide on one and yet the one very close and dear to him was waiting. He was to be trusted, he was the one to love, and he was the one who supported him (pillar). That person was a crutch on the easily fallible ice.

Russia's eyes eased open, blinding light burning on weak pupils, them contracting to immersible depths (swallow me).

"Russia!" A single word carrying such love and fervent concern drifting over his ears, those ears steadily regaining their hearing (deafless). That voice had become so precious to him in the last year never sounded so dear to him as it did it that moment (mine).

"Мой милый дорогой" he whispered, his heart stuttering and rending at the sound of Yao's voice. He felt so weak and lifeless, his soul ready to float away into heaven or oblivion and yet at the same time bound by the one so loved by him (banana split). It was tortuous not to see his beloved's face, not to be able to gather him quietly in his arms and whisper reassurances (be still be still).

"Ivan, Ivan, ohhh, Ivan," whispered Yao, his voice limping and lame with sadness, holding his love close, cradling his head and radiating protectiveness (like chrysanthemum). His arms coiled around Ivan like a tethering snake, protecting and defending (fortress?). He rained kisses upon his neck, the ripped scarf, the wounds—

He started badly at the sight of Ivan's wounds, shrieking loudly into cupped hands, eyes wide in fear like a devout religious person to their deity (fear me; love me). He was torn in shreds, the coat fraying like wispy mists at the borders of skin and death, blood guzzling placidly like a steady river, shining balefully at the Russian's lover (mother). Every inch of the Russian's body was drenched in blood and cold, frost and red icicles (ice sickles). His hair was matted and beyond the teeth of a comb, eyes a wary copper rose like violets and lavender retreating before the freeze of winter, weak in the absence of spring and summer (grow…?). The two guards by now had retreated downstairs not only because they wished to leave the two lovers alone but because they had been briefed upon Wang Yao's abilities as a medic…in the traditional arts, to say the least (heal me).

"Who did this to you, Ivan?" demanded Yao concernedly, taking upon himself to speak in what broken Russian he knew, beginning to assimilate himself in Russia culture a bit (cult). He also began to dig through the many cabinets to retrieve sufficient medical supplies, longing for his herbs and potions, which he thought more applicable to this situation (witch doctor), tears streaming freely down his face as he did so (love you).

"…_Jao_..."I van began, voice stammering over China's name, "Japan has another half. He's a demon; a torturer, a murderer…and a madman. I've not seen such hatred of such inconceivable proportions stored in such a small—lithe—vassal, da?" His voice cracked in a soprano's cough, high from pain and low from sorrow (alto).

Yao kissed Ivan tenderly over the lips, cheek, slashed cheek, dry lips, cracked lips—

Ivan put a single finger to Yao's lips, begging for him to stop (red light).

"Please, heal me…Y-Y-Yao. I fear the blood escaping may kill me if not contained," Russia pleaded, frozen hand cupping Yao's warm cheek tenderly (wife).

Yao nodded firmly and acquiesced, shrugging off the cumbersome coat to his free flowing form fitting clothes, glad to be free from the furry entrapment (bear hug). He began taking several wash cloths and a bucket of steaming water the guards had so kindly prepared for him and set it by Russia's bedside, heaving a pitched breath in exertion. The bucket clamored loudly in the silence, ricocheting painful noise throughout both of their ears, Russia wincing particularly so (hold your breath).

Plunging a thick wash cloth into the water, letting it perch on the rim, China set to the arduous task of lifting Russia up so he could remove the slashed coat (gone). He lifted himself on to the bed and floated over Russia in a distant, no contact straddle (not love?). Hand behind back, China flung away the ripped scarf and let it fall to the floor, massing into a turban of bloody cloth. He then set to peeling away the coat, pulling down the sleeves and separating it from Russia's body (Russian tape). He then let Ivan down slowly, lowering him back on to his leather covered bed, the blood pooling and breeding despite each delicate and deliberate movement of the Chinese man (crown of thorns). Before he let Russia completely down, however, he took the opportunity to kiss Ivan full and sweet on the lips, just to assure Ivan that China wanted him to live (reverse-revenge).

Letting Russia lay in peace, he gently leapt off the bed with the grace of a catty acrobat, barely making noise as his feet touched the floor (circus). Once grounded, Yao pulled the rest of the soiled coat from under Ivan, the Russian barely feeling a thing, and set it on the floor. It formed a beaver's dam of threading twigs and bloody cement next to the stained turban of a scarf (Allah).

Yao took the overhanging, damp cloth, wringing it off excess water.

Although it escaped Yao's notice, the fire in its grand hearth was blazing warmly, reflected off the many leather selections of furniture and warm wooded paneling, a rich tapestry covered one end melting in the colors of the dancing blaze (sing with me). The impromptu bed set up for Ivan lay parallel to burned in the flame's colors, just as the two of them and the rest of the Russian selections (burn with me). The leather covering was laid to assure a lessening of blood, although even as an extreme novice Yao could tell that this bed was completely unsuitable for medical treatment (heal with me).

Improvising the best he could, he gathered as many towels as he could to support the Russian, amethyst orbs trailing him where ever he would go (follow the leader). They seemed to be doing am much better job than the leather, Ivan visibly relaxing just the slightest.

Yao took the wash cloth again, resolved not to let anything else lead him astray, not even the tiniest details. Ivan was like a baby now who could drown in inches of bathwater if left alone by his mother (please, never). He took it and painstakingly dabbed away the remnants of the battle, erasing all signs of lusty murder (soul stained). When that was completed he began wiping away the blood that permeated on Ivan's chest, a profusion of riveting wounds (my sacrifice). Once all that remained were wounds bordered in creeping blood, China began gagging the wounds with several wrapping layers of bandages, hopefully cutting the circulation where it was now dreaded the most (life scream).

Ivan began to look much better, ready to trek safely down the road to recovery (guardian angel)

Removing all traces of the towels and blood, Yao went into another room and found a bag filled with extra clothes, finding an outfit that looked like it might fit Ivan easily. He pulled those clothes free and carefully scrutinized them carefully, making sure that they were suitable for Russia (giant love).

Stepping through the mess that was the casual observatory, a cabin among the wilderness, he made way again to Ivan who was on the borders of sleep and uneasiness (lurking prey). His bare, muscular, bandaged chest rose and fell with quivering breaths, Yao's eyes watching him carefully (still a baby). He eased Russia forward again, beginning the arduous task of changing the Russian like an almost six foot tall invalid, which he would be upon a full recovery (please).

After changing his pants, Yao moved to clothe him in the warm shirt, but stopped (curious). His hands brushed over Ivan's chest, the taller man shivering in pleasure, back arching upwards for a moment before settling down again like he was a great lung (smoking).

"Not now, my love," soothed China, hand moving again to Ivan's cheek. "You are too weak. But when you are strong again, we shall love."

"Jao…" murmured Ivan, eyes settling on the beautiful Chinese man. "Who is Japan's other half? Why are there two of them?"

Yao's face thundered over at the thought of Dark Kiku, that bastard who stole away his brother (no, lover). Grey shaded his eyes, even the warm reds and oranges retreating from him (cowards).

"I've heard rumors among the men about how nations are sometimes able to manifest another version of themselves, a dark version, a benign one. It's never been seen before…until now." His hand graced Ivan's hair, stroking it fondly (baby doll).

"I saw him, Мой милый дорогой. He is a demon who fights relentlessly. He only appeared yesterday to prevent me from…engaging in battle with his lighter self. I've never been faced with such adversity and ferocity. Have you seen him before, my love?" Ivan tilted his head demurely at Yao, eliciting a motherly protectiveness from China.

"I never have told anyone before, Ivan, but I've seen him once before. When I was still raising Kiku, who had been a 'teenager' at the time, I met this so called 'Dark Kiku.' I called him 'Hei Riben' and will call him such."

"Please continue, Jao," Russia prompted softly (weakly).

_It was a lovely summer evening unlike any other. The temperatures were unseasonably warm, humidity radiating strongly like an overbearing dragon's presence. Everything was green: the bamboo was bursting with vitality, the grass practically growing a centimeter a minute, the ground saturated with an abundance of water. The river near the house was swollen and girdled only by the shores that prevented the escape of thousands of fish that had been blessed to appear that day. It was as if the gods had decided to finally bless China with the paradise the people longed for. _

_And yet from abundance and wealth came the meeting of a dreadful being. _

"_Kiku? Agh, where are you?" grumbled Yao, trying to fetch the young, teenage nation so that he could finally resume the lessons Kiku was so intent on dodging lately. Maybe he was still mad about the bamboo forest incident? No, that had been over fifty years ago. He must've forgotten it by now._

_A scream erupted from seemingly no where. _

_Had it been something mild, like Im Yong Soo deciding to torture Taiwan again, he would've just sighed and shouted his approach like always. _

_This cry sounded in genuine alarm and Yao sickeningly felt like something horrible was about to happen, his heart dropping to the level of his foot._

_With the picking up of his long dress robes, Yao fled the hallway he was in to where the sound originated; the bamboo grove. His heart skipped a beat and he dropped his rushing robes to break into a run, risking tripping. _

_He didn't care for his own safety; something was amiss with Kiku!_

"_Please, STOP!" Kiku screamed. Another agonizing scream sounded, tearing Yao's confidence asunder. Although he had been battle worn, never before had he heard the cry of one he raised, this one echoing with a torturing effect on his mind. He began to sprint in his shenyi robes, risking ripping them, but he didn't care._

_He came upon the garden, the first thing he saw was Kiku sprawled by the edge of the great pool, his head facing downwards, his hair brushing the water's surface. A lone figure stood close to Kiku's side, wearing a zhiduo black as night. A bowl of black hair covered the person's head, making China feel a dreadful sense of familiarity._

"…_Kiku?" Yao ventured, voice small yet carried far. The trees were deaf and silent, the surrounding buildings looming over pensively, age not even eliciting a groan. The whole world was still and no one dare interrupt the silent passage of time._

_There was a thick haze of evil permeating from the night-clad figure, and as he turned Yao felt like an apprehensive mouse awaiting the revelation of the predator. _

Yes? _The figure in black inquired, turning fully around to face Yao. _

_Yao just stopped. He was paralyzed with fear, the gods of death teasing him from behind. His pupils froze, limbs stiffening, even the wind freezing in its place. _

"…_Ki-ki…" Words failed him._

_The person who stood before him was Kiku, and the person behind was also Kiku. He held a sword in one hand that was dripping blood, making Yao's skin prickle as if a frost had settled over them. His breathing stopped entirely._

_Dark Kiku's eyes were the most malevolent thing ever burned into his vast memory; it was even more frightening than his first war. They were empty, soulless pits that still burned like the culmination of the seven levels of hell in one black marble of an eye. Ever sin conceivable and not yet imagined was contained in those eyes and radiated off his body like a steaming hot spring, thick and immeasurable, never captured. _

Oh? Ah, I believe you talking to this Kiku? Show him yourself, my dear, _Dark Kiku said, smearing artificial love into his words, infusing them with a sweet disgust. _

_He stepped over Kiku, eyes locked with Yao who was now grounded to the cool stone in fear, small hands clutching Kiku's upper arms in a vice. He wrenched the boy upwards like an abusive husband would his helpless wife, Kiku's head lolling forward, hair spilling over his neck._

_All across Kiku's back were thousands of lashes and slashes, deep sangria abrasions in a sea of spilling blood, the brightest and most vivid venetian red Yao had ever seen. His skin untouched by blood and wounds was undertaking a deathly pallor from the substantial loss, shivering and trembling from the callous treatment._

"_Why have you done this?" Yao burst, the words practically exploding from his throat like a wolf's guttural growl. Tears were drenching his cheeks with trails and wet salt, eyes inflated and squeezing._

_Dark Kiku adjusted himself and Kiku so that they were in profile to Yao. He let Kiku float downwards, his back touching the coarse stone. Kiku winced sharply, eyes wide and blazing with pain began dulling as unwanted dopamine filled his mind and eyes, placating him into a binding calm. _

_Dark Kiku soothed away the top half of Kiku's zhiduo, in a hovering straddle over the benign boy, hair cascading like smooth waterfalls around his face, shielding Yao from his eyes encumbered with evil. His head descended downwards, hands stroking Kiku's cheeks with a false love._

It's because…I…love– _Dark Kiku's words were benumbed on his lips. What he did almost made Yao retch._

_He pressed his lips softly at first to Kiku's, but they then hardened into a consuming lust. Hei Riben's hands retreated from Kiku's face and patted once the ground besides both sides of Kiku's face, elbows bending in his descent._

_After what seemed an eternity Hei Riben's lips removed themselves from Kiku's and he slowly was slowly escalated by levering and straightening arms. He was now kneeling over Kiku, both becoming both lines of a right angle. Dark Kiku unsaddled his legs and stood up._

He is mine, do you understand? _Hei Riben sneered, face twisting into a bestial leer, mouth wrinkling like a growling lion's. He squatted downwards and gently scooped Kiku into his arms like a bastardized fallen angel who thought himself a savior. _

_He walked soundlessly to where Yao cowered in fear, just centimeters away. Glancing once at China, he proceeded onwards, unheeded, to the inner chambers of Yao's Beijing estate._

_After several minutes of absent staring and recovering, Yao flew inwards, blindly navigating the halls, several choking cries and breaths complimenting his frenzied tears. Everything rushed by in an opposite blur._

_Amazingly, he found Kiku's bedroom, flinging open the doors without judgment. He could see Kiku on the bed and flung himself upon it, scooping Kiku's head into his arms and cradling it. _

"_Kiku, Kiku!" he frantically whispered, completely blocking out the light with his overhanging face and gregarious sleeves. Tears dripped upon the boy's face, scaring Kiku into consciousness. _

"_Ge ge," he smiled wearily, face flickering into one of pain before forcefully reverting back into a semblance of peace. He was too weak to do anything else._

"_Shh, shh. We're going to fix you up, okay?" Yao reassured sadly through his tears. He laid Kiku back down and began a mad dash through his home, screaming summons to any doctor within earshot._

_Several minutes later almost a dozen doctors came, lifting Kiku on to a crude gurney and taking him into a more suitable medical setting. They all managed to find a stiff bed and laid Kiku upon it, Yao harshly ordering for them to move him with the utmost care. They laid him on his stomach; the profile of his face masked by wavering hair and dulled eyes._

_For almost an hour they labored, cleaning and bandaging and mixing herbs and remedies and poultices until Yao was satisfied with their work. However, the whole time tears accompanied by a sad voice emanated from him, startling some of those unaccustomed to the personified nation displaying such human emotions._

_He bound them in a contract of silence upon their departure, threatening death to any foolish enough to gossip. They all agreed and pledged oaths with hard lined lips, fully understanding the consequences should this fiasco leak out. No one was briefed on why Kiku was like this; they must've assumed it was some kind of bad break._

_Once they were all gone, Kiku had finally regained an almost normal consciousness. He even tried standing up._

"_No, Kiku, you must rest. Please, Riben," Yao pleaded with the immature nation, gripping his arms gently, lovingly._

"_Will you stay with me?" Kiku asked, heartfelt, finding one of China's hands to hold when he was down on the bed again. "I feel like…he'll come back again."_

_That was enough to put Yao into an overload of stress and maternal protectiveness, and he complied. Kiku was under the sheets so Yao eased himself next to him, over the sheets and downy silk comforter, resting side by side. _

_Kiku smiled at this and let his eyes droop into an almost sanguine sleep, Yao moving closer to Kiku and putting an arm protectively over Kiku's neck as they both began to sleep._

_Just before they drifted away, Yao couldn't help but feel an onrush of love swell within him like an entreating tide. And it was anything but brotherly._

"_I love you," he whispered, assured of Kiku deeply breathing, a sure sign that he was asleep._

_But Kiku wasn't asleep. His face took on a rosy tint, a smile through the pain. He kept those words locked within his memory, the last time he would hear them in such a context._

"He was very…precious to you, da?" Ivan said, strong enough to speak but still very weak (had enough).

"He was my brother," Yao adjourned, preventing any suspicion to encroach in Russia's mind (lies). He sat at Russia's side, in a stately personage, arms folded like a wise old emperor (wise rule).

"But you still love him as such, da?" Ivan chirped, a smile rising upon his face. "I feel the very same for my dear sister Ukraine."

"And Belarus?" A sly rising of a trim black brow (oh really?).

Ivan's smile was frozen upon his face like a feline with a smile blazing over its face coyly. He was hiding his real emotions, China knew, by the very expression gracing his face (fear, da?).

"Nero Kiku has been around for a very long time, da?" Ivan hastily changed the subject, much to China's slight amusement. In reality their joviality wasn't genuine; Russia had been wounded by Hei Riben and China was still internally distraught by it (Cheshire wolf).

"Riben hates him; I can tell. Hei Riben used to simply be the manifestation of sinful emotions, a demon charged into being like a newly born nation. But now he is imperialism, Japanese imperialism. As long as Japan sustains his existence his dark will linger or strengthen and consume. It's all up to his leaders and his heart."

Russia was too tired to continue, falling now into a deep sleep. China watched him fondly for a few moments, assured of Russia's sleeping state (like a baby). He then casually walked over to the window, observing the impending squalls throughout with detached focus (waltz of the moon).

Flashes of Kiku's face plastered themselves on the window like stickers: a smiling and adorable child Japan, a teenage boy with a blushing face and warm eyes, and finally the pained face of a young man, a boyish man, begging for forgiveness (no love).

Tears once again flowed down his face, threatening loud cries from China, a red heat choking and constricting his throat (painful).

He couldn't deny it anymore; he was in love with Japan (nevermore). That love was torturing him so much; the fact that they were enemies stared him full in the eyes like Hei Riben had almost a thousand years before (eyes on me). He was so sick of it all. He wanted to run to Japan's side and beg for forgiveness (never). He wanted Japan to smile softly and sadly, so lovingly, and atone him (my fantasy). He wanted to kiss that adorable boy and make their enmity fade away forever (act of contrition).

It was much, much too late.

He was already in too deep; it would take many, many years to absolve this, to accept each other easily (you sure?).

There was no taking back what he'd done. His heart was fettered to Russia now whether he liked it or not (veni, vici).

* * *

_Hey, take me to nuclear reactor__  
__I wish to dive into core, wanna fly, fly, fly__  
__Disabled memories go white, melt and disappear__  
__Hey, take me to nuclear reactor__  
__If I could dive into core, and then cry, cry, cry_

_Like old days good sleep will bring me dream of tenderness__  
__In broken dream everyone disappears out of sight__  
__At midnight my room changes the size bigger and__  
__Silent nightmare comes into my chest suddenly__  
__Hardly I breathe, end of the world start in my life_

_

* * *

_

Last thoughts: Um, we'll get to the final resolution of the war and the reuniting of Japan and the Koreas next chapter, okay?

Just so you know, China doesn't end his sentences with "~aru" in this chapter because he's not speaking Japanese in either the flashback or the normal monologue. He's speaking Russian with Russia and Chinese in the flashback so I don't think he needs to add "~aru", you know? Oh, and the (parenthesized) words have struck again! I like them too much and thought they would mingle in well with the chapter. Another thing…I'm starting to like RoChu. Not "OMG THEY'RE SO HAWT & MY OTP!1!" but just a pleasant liking. I'm fine with all of the couples really; no hate or animosity towards them. It's kind of an "I give you my blessing" kind of like…I suppose.

Yeah, it seems Japan really has been getting hurt, hasn't he? And most cases it's because of Dark Kiku (Hei Riben is Chinese for 'Dark Japan, by the way). Ah, he's so mean, isn't he? Wonder what'll happen in the future? And let's see…so far Dark Kiku has "branded" about two nations, Russia and Japan. It's his way of reminding his prey of who he is as well as asserting his realism. This chapter was really interesting but the next will be even better~ See you then!

Thanks to everyone who has made this story possible~!

The lyrics at the top and bottom are from Meltdown by Xiaosphere sung by Kagamine Rin.

As always, review, review, review!


	17. Seppuku To The Face, 내 해방자

"_Because you're here, there is a tomorrow that I want to protect"_

_Those words from you was the start to walking_

_"Because you're here, I won't give up even the smallest dream"_

_Getting lost in this city that only lonely things hurt my heart_

_There seems to be something that can be done by myself_

_There seems to be something that cannot be ended_

_I want to help you as much as I can_

_

* * *

_

Their words were cordial, warm, with a strong sense of diplomacy. Their manners had been immaculate by western standards, the unquenchable thirst for gain hidden beneath softened eyes to conceal any belying emotions. All of them wore impeccable suits that radiated professionalism and had small smiles twitched across their wizened old faces.

Kuroi Kiku smirked behind Komura Jutaro, watching as he and Takahiro Kogoro busily scanned the various documents scattered across the chestnut lacquered table, the eyes of the cold and blundering Russians eyeing them with practiced hatred, subtle hatred, yet still burning like a candle's flame against the sting, causing the skin to twitch madly. Their calligraphy-painted eyes flicked between the bulkier Europeans and the subduing whites of the documents, contemplating a decision.

They exchanged a few words by ear, whispering in their native language as to retain what little privacy they had. A few nods and low-pitched words behind gloved hands sounded among the Japanese men, their shifting in the starched leather chairs sawing against the silence of the room.

"We should like to break for now, please, to finalize our decision in private," one among the Asians said politely, inclining his head slightly in the direction of the Russians who in turn nodded stiffly, full range of movement restrained in their couture bondage.

All of the men rose, the fluffy leather chairs inflating with the air that had been pressed out by their masculine bodies. Their shoes were muffled at first by the ornate Persian rug but then rose into a horse-like clomping as they shuffled, worn, from the room. Kuroi Kiku was the last to leave, rounding the hall and finding the very someone who he had been looking for all throughout that boring afternoon.

Gently he kissed Kiku's cheek, mouth dipping below his jaw line to place an elegant kiss on Kiku's neck. He was bound by civility and decided to act that way, keeping his hands off his irresistible half. Of course, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, he smirked to himself.

Pushing Kiku against the wall, Kuroi Japan gazed with false love down at Kiku, the white half now entrapped against the wall. With no one else in sight, all having retreated away to their respective places of refreshment, he began kissing Kiku's neck, lips retreating and attracting to and from his neck. As the months had past, Kiku's neck had been his lip's favorite target. He loved feeling the warm rush of blood as it traveled throughout this junction of Kiku's body, that very same life blood he had spilt almost two years ago. How fast time had been retreating from them. Somewhere in the world a child had been born on that day and was entering their toddler years. Not that he cared the least.

_Mmmm,_ Dark Kiku hummed between skin-skimming lips, each descent bringing him closer to that all-consuming lust. Of course, he needed his fix to prevent that from outrushing somewhere inappropriate. Kiku was lucky that his darker half had agreed to mediate for him, Japan becoming such a wimp. That's why he needed imperialism to survive.

_I hate how unresponsive you've become. You're like a daikon radish; uninteresting and yet you can be cooked up into something delicious. _His fingers laced into Kiku's hair, Kuroi Kiku's lips grazing against his hair. _My dear, sexy angel, I'm so very worried for you._

Kiku's eyes were a blank, his body reduced to the minimum of consciousness. After the end of the war Dark Kiku had made his return, raining his presence over Kiku's. The boy had been reduced into a state of nervous shock, going into a comatose sleep for a few days prior to the war's announced end and staying as such for a few weeks.

Kuroi Kiku had revealed himself to Kiku's leaders upon their return to Japan, they giving him a worshipping ovation at the fact that he would be Kiku's guardian and the physical manifestation of all they had striven to reach. The glorious heights of Imperialism had been conjured and that fact drove them into a stupid, yet intelligent, frenzy, drawing up plans for a wider swath of dominion across the globe. They weren't sure when these plans would be enacted and filed them away for awaited use.

Having another bout of sweet fun he pressed his lips to Kiku's, enraptured by their delicious taste. His breaths halted, the smaller half frozen, as usual, at Dark Kiku's cloying advances.

_Respond, you son of a goddess, _he said, voice drawing out into what almost could be taken for a groan. He tried again, hands moving to the small of Kiku's back and pushing him closer against Kuroi Kiku's heated body. That very same back he had slashed up over a thousand years before, his first act of lasting love, the mark of meaningful remembrance. His hands moved beneath the coattails of Kiku's suit coat and slithered up his un-tucked shirt, the Japanese nation abhorring the western dress custom. It made it easier for Dark Kiku so he really couldn't complain.

His hands advanced up Kiku's back, flesh heating like coals on ice, melting away the defenses Kiku had worked so hard to maintain: the resistance to romantic endeavors. However, Dark Kiku had relentlessly belittled those walls to nothing, surmounted them with patient ease. The skin trembled and shivered to his touch; his lips remained clamped shut, however.

_Enough, _Kuroi Kiku declared with exasperated finality, his hands maneuvering themselves back to his waiting sides. Kiku was really starting to tick him off; a mannequin would be seventy times more responsive.

Readjusting Kiku like a doll to a more fitting state, he patted the boy's silver-haloed hair to smoothness, possessive like a mother or father to their child. He took Kiku's listless hand and dragged him away to another room, flinging the mahogany door open with a shuttering crash. It wasn't loud enough, just so. He lifted Kiku in his arms like a child, the weightless nation unresponsive as usual, making a swift descent to the bed. Hovering over Kiku on all fours, hands and knees sinking deeply into the mattress, he gently kissed Kiku a faint good-bye on the crown of his head. However tender it looked, it wasn't, only a friendly reminder of who possessed whom.

Leaping off the bed, Dark Kiku soundlessly left the room, leaving Kiku in the contemplating darkness.

"Damn you," he growled, practically scrubbing his lips off from his face in an effort to relieve himself of that taste. It was horrible; like coal and peat and death. How could something that was supposed to be living taste like that? He didn't taste like life; Dark Kiku felt like the clawing arm of a metallic crane, his heat like the searing ovens of a glass factory. His eyes were like water drenched in spilt oil, obviously liquid yet inhuman; his lips felt like a burning forest, their screams filled with a ringing death. This is what all that Kuroi Kiku was.

Kiku's hands clenched into fists, these hands that held life and not death. Yes, he guilty of killing people, enemies mostly, but only Dark Kiku could manufacture death.

"I will find a way to purge the earth of you. Your life on this planet shall not be for long," he said with gritted resolve.

* * *

The Liaodong Peninsula, half of Sakhalin Island, and the largest prize of all: the "liberated" Koreas.

The imperial world viewed this as a wonderful salvation for the Koreas, blaming China for their fabricated woes. There had to be excuses and conspiracy in order for there to be imperial expansion.

South Korea, Im Yong Soo, as well as North Korea had to be brought in chains and cages like brutal circus animals to Japan, the place they viewed as the darkest place in Asia. North Korea held his sobbing younger brother in a protective embrace, the younger bawling and lamenting the loss of his precious Gege. Imperial Japan was sickened by this; wasn't China the one to be blamed? Of course he was; powerlessness was the cause for every modern-less country's woes.

The room they were forced to occupy was no better than a stall.

It was small and dank, a stifling mold encroaching down the walls and hay littering the floor. The wood was infested with termites and fermenting dirt lined the corners of the room, a vile odor offending all who dared smell it. The very thought of living in there would send any sensible person into retches.

_What do you think of your new home, didi? _Kuroi Kiku said with melodic sarcasm, his voice twisting and lashing harshly in their ears. South Korea was stock still in the face of Dark Kiku but North Korea's eyes burned with pure unadultered hate.

"Why do you do this to us, Blackened Soul?" North Korea said with mild hatred, his eyes burning his strong emotions into Dark Kiku's flaming coal eyes.

_Why? There's no answer scum like you deserve to hear, _said Kuroi Kiku, his voice dancing with solitary affection towards himself. The katana he held was held steady on the Wol-Do North Korea held, a sword of Korean make with a handle almost more than a meter long with half a meter long crescent-shaped blade. The end of the handle had a spike attached as well as a ring with a tassel tied to it. Dark Kiku let both of these brothers keep any weaponry on their person as a way to amuse himself. Surely their hate would be enough to fuel the winnowing desires for death and amusement. Kuroi Kiku was in it for the amusement, of course.

"You deserve very much to die," North Korea said with a mounting flame of vengeance within. He gripped his Wol-do with waning restraint, the blade eager to cut into the egoist's flesh.

North Korea emerged from their newly appointed hovel, South watching with choking anticipation. North glowered fearlessly into Dark Japan's face, gripping the Wol-do with perfected pressure.

_Are you ready to die? _Dark Kiku insinuated just enough for North to hear.

"Are you?" North countered, poised dauntlessly for battle. Dark Kiku took on his favored battle stance, the animalistic one that usually meant trouble.

In the large training hall they were in, this would be Dark Japan's first battle with a nation who wasn't afraid or staggered by an outside force. He was strong, full of vitality and a fighting spirit.

They charged forward, North Korea retaining a stoic expression while Dark Kiku's broke into a mad, smirking grin. In their long rush, they finally collided. Their weapons clashed together, once, twice, before slamming like charging rhinoceros in a heated lunge, the terrific force from both parties sending the other staggering backwards.

North Korea "tsk"—ed at the sight of the blood staining the cut sleeve of his jignyeongp'o, the muted beige seeping blood as if it were ink on calligraphy paper. Dark Kiku glowered at North Korea, the beginnings of a fetal admiration growing for the masochist-like nation.

North Korea scorned the blood, ignoring the pain it entailed. Remembering the face of his tortured brother fueled him into a silent madness. This was it; the retainers would bear witness to Imperial Japan's death.

Their blades touched again, North Korea holding the handle like an oarsman, bearing it high and low to deflect and counter. The expression on his face was stoic and yet his eyes poured forth emotions that startled all that caught meager glimpses of them.

Dark Kiku sidestepped several times out of North's range of vision, skipping right wise. North Korea was nearly struck.

Kuroi Kiku leapt high like a silent jaguar, rotating his body a few degrees to perform an aerial shack. The sword hissed angrily as it cut the air, moving around with his whipping black hair.

North Korea timely met the blade with his own, his eyes widening the slightest from the unexpected move. However, North knew how to feint as well.

Just as their swords collided, North launched himself into the air and brought his body inwards, spinning in a revolution, Wol-do jutting out like a single-spiked pinwheel. Their cutting edges sparked upon contact, their dueling resolves fed into the contact. This was not only a metal war, but also one of the minds.

_Why is it you're so persistant? Succumb to my will! _rasped Dark Kiku's voice. He was sprawled upon the ground, sword having skittered away into a corner. For the first time in a long time someone had defeated him. Who in all of the Seven Hells was this beastly nation?

_Guards!_ _Take him away from my sight at once and beat them both!_ thundered Dark Kiku, a small gathering of guards helping him to his feet. Admittedly, the luxury of home had made him rusty and weak. Completely unlike Kiku who trained constantly and unmercifully, under careful supervision of course. That boy was at his peak vitality when training; around his dark half he was lifeless and inert.

A round of guards swarmed around North Korea, snatching away his wol-do and forcing him to the ground, their heavy yet formal boots biting into his face and body.

"RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" he screamed wildly, his voice rising into a shocking crescendo, the guards responding with profanity and beating. North Korea struggled, rolling a roll of death like a crocodile in mud resisting capture. A jabbing kick into his stomach silenced the country, his eyes searing shut from the pain before lapsing into unconsciousness.

Dark Kiku shoved away the men crowding around him like buzzards, growling some terrifying threat upon further closure around him. He angrily dusted off his epaulets and black-sleeved coat. It was about time he saw Kiku.

* * *

Kiku was in the perfect stance of peace, his breathing timed and poised. His legs were standing shoulder length apart and his sword was held on extended arms, the katana bracing for kinetic action. In this potential stance he was building energy under closed and tranquil eyes.

His eyes shot open and the blade flew upwards like an eagle flying into a rapid ascension. Strongly he made it fly around his still body, the blade cutting into a bound tatami mat. Before the mat could disintegrate into pieces he managed to cut it four times, a new record.

Slow-beating applause filled the empty and grandiose training hall, loud resonating footfalls of an excruciatingly deliberate pace filling his sensitive ears.

_Your brothers would be proud. You make me very proud, Nippon, _Dark Kiku said with casual inquiry. _Would you like to see them again? Re-establish old and broken bonds?_

"I rather I protect them from you," Kiku said with casualty, his voice slightly stinging. He was picking up the fallen pieces of mat, keeping his back with purposeful disrespect to his other half. Standing, the pleated hakama he wore swished as he moved away from Dark Kiku. His navy sleeves of his kimono fluttered like butterflies in the wind.

Dark Kiku licked his lips, eyes filling with desperation. _Your body has become stronger since the end of the war._

"I'm making a full recovery," Kiku said nonchalantly, untying the sheathed sword and placing it respectfully on a wall-bound holster, a proud display and one of Kiku's few reminders of a more familiar past.

Dark Kiku sounded much closer now, each footstep he took seemed to quicken.

Kiku gulped noiselessly, feeling an energetic anxiety grip him, the urge to flee escalating with each millisecond.

_Y-You've become s-so—_

"So, what?" Kiku asked with bated calm, forcing himself into an informal state.

_S-so—_Dark Kiku didn't finish. He was right behind Kiku now.

He was like a vampire lusting and hungering for the terrible need for blood or a drug addict suffering from withdrawal, his hands were trembling terribly; Kuroi Kiku's breaths came out shivering, panting.

Suddenly, those needy hands grabbed Kiku from behind and whirled him about, forcing him to the ground. Kiku lay serenely like a person awaiting death. His eyes could see Dark Kiku's face heated and sweating with longing, hands and body visibly trembling. Those desperate eyes bored on to him, raking his body over.

Dark Kiku wrenched Kiku's kimono open, eyes paralyzed on the sight of his abominable scars, rising and falling chest, jutting collarbone, thin neck, beautiful face with full lips and large, defiant eyes. He made a descent to the base of Kiku's neck and jaw, lips desperately searching for skin. Moist marks were left behind as lips retreated and fell again, Dark Kiku kissing with such pathetic need. His hands moved blindly to remove the constraining gloves and toss them vigorously aside, returning again to explore Kiku's body anew.

His breaths became more ragged and desperate, but there was a faint sense of some calm. Why did Dark Kiku so desperately need him? He'd never been this way before.

Kuroi Kiku moved into a hovering straddle over Kiku, saying nothing. His lips crashed determinably against Kiku's, delirium kindling the darker's actions. Never before had this kiss of death been filled with such need, such want. This side of Dark Kiku was unsettling to Japan.

Their lips touched again and again, Kuroi Kiku never seeming to get enough. His ungloved hands rested on Kiku's chest, reveling in the warmth.

And as quick as it started, it stopped.

Dark Kiku removed both legs to one side, freeing Kiku. But he wasn't allowed to escape yet.

Dark Japan slowly let his head descend on Kiku's chest, his lips absently kissing. Kiku could surprisingly feel warm tears searing on his skin alongside wet lip contact. He moved his body halfway across Kiku's, head near the nape of his neck, still kissing.

A wave of tenderness overtook Kiku for the person he was supposed to hate. And for an instant, the longest of any ever experienced, he saw the face of his Gege.

That was it. He'd lost it.

Propping himself on his elbows, Kiku cupped Dark Kiku's face and kissed him tenderly.

* * *

_We get tired from things that doesn't go well_

_The only thing that doesn't change every day is the feeling for someone_

_How can I do my best until the end? Without breaking_

_The moon shines upon the heart that might break_

_

* * *

_

Last thoughts: Ah~ Finally finished this chapter!

Okay my thoughts regarding Kiku and Dark Kiku is this: In reality, Kiku and Dark Kiku are two parts of a whole. Because of this, as well as Dark Kiku's feelings for Kiku, he has a strange mix of love and need, the two coinciding and driving him into strange instances. He loves Kiku so much but also is a part of him and inertly wants to rejoin with Kiku and make him whole again. The only reason Kiku is so tolerant of this is because he knows this fact and has to treat Dark Kiku kindly least he provoke or anger him; it's also out of pity. The last part when Kiku, surprisingly, kisses Dark Kiku is because he saw a vision of Yao and unconsciously kissed him. This also represents how Imperialist Japan was at first probably hated by the people and then accepted little by little—kind of like how Japan is more or less tolerant of Imperial Japan. …Dark Kiku is a mega-perv, you know that? He just can't keep his hands to himself…

The Koreas: North Korea is extremely protective of Im Yong Soo and that's why he engages in battle with Dark Kiku in battle. There's a bit of Hetalian symbolism; the Koreas did much to resist Japanese rule but were eventually beaten into submission…for the next thirty-five years. I'll elaborate later.

History: On September 5th, 1905, the Treaty of Portsmouth was signed in America with the efforts of Roosevelt to help mediate the belligerents and peacefully negotiate a deal. It's commonly known that in Russia the loss against the Japanese resulted in further feeding the flames of revolution in Russia. That's why you don't see Ivan or Yao at the mediation; they're too busy preparing for it. In Japan, too, there were a series of riots called the Hibiya riots over the, what they believed an unfair treaty. I'll get more to it later.

The songs that definitely assisted in writing this chapter are "Blinded By Light," the battle theme for Final Fantasy XIII by Masahi Hamauzu and "Kimi Ga Iru Kara," the main theme for Final Fantasy XIII. Ah, I'm getting obsessed even though I don't have the game. I'm even watching all of the walkthrough videos of YouTube…

Sorry for rambling! Thanks to everyone who made this chapter possible!

As always, review, review, review!


	18. Eternally Banded Together, 你聰明的傻瓜

The wind, like a heart that swam in the accumulated words

The clouds, a voice that was shot into the holding future

The moon, a shaking heart in an unsteady mirror

The stars, gentle tears in an overflowing stream

* * *

After so many years, the waiting had to end. Being with Russia was just a lie; their bosses loved it: relations between a European country who was kind and not aggressive towards them had so many unparalleled benefits. But for him, it was just a façade, a pleasurable façade, but an illusion nonetheless.

Despite the varying degrees of enmity between the nations, Imperial Japan had taken a liking to China. Not a loving relationship, rather a benevolent and arrogant one. How embarrassing would it be for the mighty and motherly nation to be taught the arts of modernization by a child, a cultural offspring, had to be humiliating.

To Hei Riben, he thought that Wang Yao should be submissive, maybe even resistant. China would follow in the footsteps of his younger "brothers" and join the Empire of Japan. He believed that the first step would be in changing the thoughts of China and emulating Japan's cultural practices would make assimilation and then takeover easier.

To Japan, it was entirely different.

He loved his Gege, still believing that Yao loved Ivan, and yet wanted to express his love in the subtlest ways possible. He was also deathly afraid of China being completely taken over by Western powers and wanted to give China the intel and knowledge to fight back, school the youngest Chinese generations to someday guard their fatherland. Kiku wanted to see China have the industrial strength and intelligence to fight back, to compete competitively in the global markets, and reassert his position as one of the most influential and advanced countries. Even if it meant watching silently from the shadows, aiding in any way to relieve China of his ever present and burgeoning despair would make his heart light.

For the people of China, they might as well take advantage of these advances, right? A future without security is just no future at all…

The streets of Tokyo were crowded. People were buzzing around like bees around honeycombs of steel and wood, the Queen Bee housed in the center of the metallic and dead organic mess. The sky above, today, was enshrouded in a fog only dreams saw parallel. The myriad of square wooden buildings were clumped together, some oozing the scents of a restaurant or of home industry. The bulkier buildings far ahead bellowed smoke and smog through long steel flutes, reminding Yao of a box like a pincushion with long, cylindrical funnels like needles poking out.

Everything he saw garnered mixed awe and confusion, sometimes pure out fear. The culture shock was enormous. He'd heard stories from graduates who were questing to expand their horizons in their particular field the wonders of Europe, America, and some other parts of the world. As curious as he was, he would probably never be ready to venture to those lands himself.

"Wang-sama?" the driver in the rickety car he was driving inquired, craning around to look objectively in almond eyes. Although the honorific was unknown to Yao, he being a monolingual country, the tone of his voice imparted respect. Well, having to go to Japan made him brush up on his Japanese…a bit. It had been many years and the going-on in his country made him forget. His Korean was still strong, something necessary for his side-mission here.

"Um, are we almost there~aru?" he said, the sentence tic added automatically. The driver raised an eyebrow, turned around, and sighed. His thumb jabbed at the direction of the street they were heading down, the car swerving violently.

"Aiya~aru!" he gasped, clutching the fluffy leather seats. He felt like a small child, jostled in an even smaller country.

"Yes." The driver said after a quick five minute drive down a tree-lined road. China hadn't been to Japan's house in over a hundred years since the beginning of the countries' hostile diplomacies and he wondered what the house would be like.

Not waiting for the driver to open the door for him, Yao kicked the door before foolishly realizing that there was a little knob to be opened, gently pulled it inwards, grudgingly cursing this damn horseless wagon.

Finally exiting and distancing himself from the contraption as possible, gaping up at Japan's house, not of wonder, but disgust. Like the homes of foreign ambassadors back home, this house was of foreign make and obviously western. Not even Japan was spared from the ravages of modernization. It permeated everywhere and left nothing untouched.

The eaves were less graceful, dull siding the two-story building in colors worthy of an overcast sky, small windows dotted the building like irregular mirrors, reflecting the depressed sky. Overall, it was one of the ugliest buildings to ever scar his memory or a land in such close proximity.

The chugging and smoky crackling of the car as it escaped him caused Yao to whirl about, movements constrained by the stiff suit he had been mandated to wear. He cast an accusing glare at the car as it smugly chugged away. He was stranded now, stuck in a land now alien to him.

Timidly he stepped up to the threshold, half expecting it to explode into a frenzy of fireworks he was so nervous. Knocking softly, he was greeted by a suited butler of Japanese descent who eyed Yao through the monocle he wore, who started when he realized who it was.

"You are at the wrong house, Wang Yao," he said in acceptable Chinese, easing Yao into a more comfortable state, relaxed that he could speak his own language.

"Where am I to be?" Yao asked pensively, twiddling his thumbs nervously. He was here all alone like a child…the person he loved dearly so close and yet so far.

The man leaned downwards, unsteadying Yao a bit, unaccustomed to such informal closeness. "This is where Mr. Honda receives guests of foreign heritage. Seeing that you're a bit more familiar with Asian customs and the like he thought you'd be more comfortable in a more familiar setting, if not completely like your home country."

"Can we go there now?" Yao asked easily, giving the butler an inquiring stare.

"This main household is on this estate so it's but a few minute's walk away. Please, allow me to escort you," he offered, stepping out of the house and past Yao, their apprehensive strides eating up the grass laden lawns.

Everything was immaculate, from the simplified Japanese architecture to the overhanging trees swaying in the deliciously scented breeze, casting light flecked in dappled shadows below. If this hadn't been an important diplomatic mission he would've liked to romp and gambol for a bit. Like he ever did that anymore, he being an old man.

They came upon the gated entrance and Yao let himself in, the butler waving a friendly good-bye. The small and white-plaster walled courtyard was being peeked in upon by several trees of the tallest kind, raining down their looming shadows and giggling breezes.

Once the butler left entirely, he stepped up the few wooden stairs and ascended to the roka, the porch surrounding the building.

"Kiku-di?" he asked meekly, tapping brushing fingers against the washi screen doors.

A single, large black eye locked with his for a full second before retreating shyly away an instant later.

The door slowly eased itself open, as if to add more tension to the moment already filled with it.

Kiku stood before him, eyes downcast and nervous. He seemed different… His face seemed a bit more elongated, skin more pallid with frailness, hair dull, but still extremely beautiful. His body, even underneath the mounting folds of robes, was thinner and more winnow-like, and he even seemed shorter. He looked like a teenager again, gangly and not quite sure of himself, ready to take on a world he knew he wasn't ready for. The pheromones emitting from his body made Yao's heart jump and throttle in a way Ivan never did or could.

Words were so lost between them. Kiku, staunch on his belief that Yao loved Ivan, and Yao, knowing full well of the letters Lithuania had sent to Kiku detailing the betrayal, were lost in dialogues that could be said but could never form the right words.

It was Kiku who spoke first.

"Y-Yao-ge, p-please come this way…" Kiku stuttered inaudibly, turning to lead the way. He began headlong at first to a wall, intending to turn, but…

Yao rushed against the wall Kiku was aimed towards, pinning him there with a dull thump of hands.

"Y-Y-Yao-ge?"Kiku said, stuttering much more terribly, eyes widening in confused terror, and then mellowing into sadness. He turned his head away from Yao's striking golden colored eyes, resisting the urge to embrace him tightly. He yearned for this man that much.

"Kiku-di, why are you like this all of a sudden? You know me…right?" he asked softly, ponytail brushing and cascading over his shoulder, his shadow covering over Kiku like a widow's airy veil.

"I thought you loved Russia-san!" he nearly shouted, voice cracking at the truth he thought he spoke.

"I-I—" his voice caught, sounds trying to form words but popped instantly like the life of bubbles.

Kiku roughly pushed him away. "What am I to you? An enemy? A brother? What? I just don't get you, Yao-ge!" he cried, eyes roaring with hurt and pain and something like anger only…sadder.

Kiku began storming his way past Yao and outside into the courtyard, a figurative thundercloud hanging depressingly over his head. He began pacing and muttering things in a strange Japanese dialect not familiar with Yao who wasn't extremely fluent in Japanese to begin with, Kiku having been content with speaking Chinese in his presence throughout his solidarity of a life.

Yao, too, began to feel frustration well up inside of him.

"Why don't you listen? You won't even let me speak before you decide the next gloomy thought that's on your mind is the truth or what I intended to say!" Yao said, voice rising into similar accusatory heights.

Kiku stopped pacing; folding his arms defensively and eying Yao with a passive aggressiveness, glaring up him with eyes Yao wished were sweet and full right now.

"Russia…is very complicated. The love I have for him transcends friendship and lapses into a motherly state. He's been very unstable throughout his life… I felt sorry for him."

"Did you use your lips? Where did you 'care' for him? Lips, cheek, body?" Kiku asked, tears welling up. He hated this; why couldn't Yao-ge just leave and leave him to rot away in peace?

"Kiku, wait—"

"How dare you even come here! I half expected you to bring Russia-san with you like he was your husband! Why did you betray me? You acted so loving before I left and once I did you decided Russia-san would be more suitable for you? WHY?" Kiku cried, threatening to crash into hysteria and bring a meltdown along for the ride.

"It was because I thought you didn't like me that way!" Kiku stopped, eyes wide in abject shock."You kept refusing, refusing, and refusing! What was I supposed to think? I honestly thought you only saw me as a guardian and nothing more! To advance, I thought, would imperil our relationship! Did you think I would let my feelings get in the way of the connection I was trying so hard to keep? Don't you remember when you came after our…first 'modern' war?" his voice ended a little more quietly, his feelings having over-poured themselves into the earlier words.

"I never came after our first war. What are you talking about?" Kiku demanded, brows furrowed, troubled.

"Don't you…remember?"

"'He' has the power to block memories if he so chooses," Kiku said, a terrible truth settling in his mind. "I thought it was just the mental exhaustion sapping my memory or its memorization capabilities."

Yao startled himself when he realized who it was. Dark Kiku.

A long, pregnant silence stretched between them for what seemed like hours.

"Dark Kiku did that to you, didn't he?" he said finally, eyes glimpsing Kiku.

Japan's face became blank and practically lifeless. He began removing the robes covering his shoulders, letting them slip off, without modesty, revealing the new wounds Dark Kiku had gifted upon him.

Yao remembered the knife wound from the plunge the frightened Korean woman had bestowed upon Kiku, but not these. His uppermost chest to his abdomen was clawed with grisly scars and bumpy scabs from broadly sized ones that were taking years to heal because of Kiku's merciless exertion on himself. But on his lower abdomen frighteningly near to his lungs was the one from Kiku's first twentieth century encounter with Kuroi Nippon, driving Yao into a vengeful rage.

He was first overcome with sadness. Seizing Kiku into a hug, he whispered prayers of healing and condolence, hands warming Kiku's cold and bony back.

Yao held this precious person for so long the world must have been flowing away without them realizing it.

"There's someone else who needs you more than me," Japan said suddenly, reluctantly withdrawing from their embrace.

"The Koreas?" confirmed China miserly. His hands held Kiku's small shoulders, thumbs rubbing in smoothing circles. Kiku's head bobbed forward limply, Yao taking it as a nod.

"Please, take me to them."

From behind drawn lattice shutters, wood paneling striping over his gaze, Dark Kiku watched, darkly glaring at the man he wished dead.

* * *

"Aniki!" a cry came through the arid darkness, startling Yao into concern. Im Yong Soo launched himself at Yao, the much older nation practically suffocating the much younger one, pleasantly surprising the younger country despite both of their tiredness.

The past few weeks since the Koreas entrapment in Japan had been tedious and tortuous. Kuroi Kiku had stepped up on both of the Koreas as well as Japan's restrictions, the Koreas treated more harshly and Japan like some child made of diamonds that needed constant surveillance. Slipping out of the estate meant later more demanding consequences from the black half, Kiku always striving to combat his advances despite adversity; his plain out reluctance and deadpan face was a turn-off enough for the always in mating season Dark Kiku.

For the Koreas, it was hell. Indulging in his sadistic side Dark Kiku would resort to slashing, cutting, and beating. Already both brothers had attained similar slashes the like Kiku sported, although Dark Kiku chose to make theirs' much more subtle, preferring his favorite to be branded in the cruelest fashion of the three

"Kiku-di, show them," Yao said after a long moment in the inhumane darkness, encouraging them all to step outside.

The Koreas hesitantly exited, Yao inwardly cursing at their evident lack of liberty, they looking around like nervous animals suddenly released from their cage fearing the retaliating gunshots of the master.

Slowly they settled under the boughs of an overhanging jade tree, the dappled shadows making the wind flow and flutter in the afternoon. To Japan's inward delight they were under the organic arms of Ai, his beloved and matronly cherry blossom tree. Yao seemed to sense Kiku's hidden endearment for the tree and felt a brief shock of jealousy, quickly evaporating into concern for his distraught.

Sitting quietly, Kiku displayed his chest, letting his 'brothers' rake their eyes over it in quiet contemplation. Im Yong Soo involuntarily trembled as North stoically unbound the bindings of his wearing thin robes, his chest revealing a train wreck of small flicks from a sword of which they all knew belonged to whom. Kiku's head was completely still but his eyes flickered over North's body like a darting fly, landing here and there.

Realizing what he had to do, South began letting his robes slowly crawl over his skin, showing them his chest with wounds akin to his older brother's.

At this, Yao pulled Kiku into a one-armed embrace with one arm and the other two brothers in the other, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. Sniffing could be presently heard, startling all three of them. Here the man they had always viewed as strong and emotionally stable was breaking down before them. …And yet it embodied a sense of peace in all three, relieved that their brother could express emotion comfortably before them instead of forcing it to stay inside.

Japan was the first to return them embrace, Yao's eyes sparking open, followed shortly the Koreas reluctant return. Kiku refused to let go, firming his grip and even daring to soothe his hair like he was the child. North usually would've averted such interaction and yet now he was channeling all of his comfort through his now gentle hands.

"KIKU! GET IN HERE NOW!"came a shocking and deafening scream. Japan began shivering and trembling terribly at the monster's summons, his brothers cowering deeper into Yao's embrace.

Kiku slowly rose, Yao's hands clinging tightly to his, Kiku giving Yao a face of sobbing disinclination, forcing himself to stand to his fate.

Placing a hand on the soft black bark of Ai's trunk, he turned to his family in each other's safe embrace he longed to return to.

"I'll return…I promise. Please stay here; she'll keep you safe," he said, trying to reassure them, although with little success. Before they could stop him, he broke into a mad dash and left their sight before their heartrending stares could deter him.

* * *

A sake bottle hit him on the side of the face as Kiku stood among the disarraying storm of alcohol bottles and scattered papers whose contents were shielded away by the lowered curtains that cloaked the windows.

Kiku's hands trembled to his cheek where he was struck. His abashed eyes saw Dark Kiku reclining sloppily in an overstuffed leather chair with the neck of a beer bottle slung weakly between two fingers, the contents nearly empty which contributed to its lightness. A shadow overhung his face and yet those eyes blazed passionately into Kiku, boring a whole through his chest at which they were aimed at.

"I understand your 'brother' was here to…intrude on our property and briefly liberate those damn younger nations he dotes so devotedly on," slurred Dark Kiku, slinging the beer neck upwards to drain it of the rest of its contents and throw it resoundingly across the room, nearly pummeling Kiku in with glass. Kiku started badly at this, feeling utterly helpless. What could he do? He had no weapon and Kuroi Kiku saw to it that Kiku was trained practically to death to prevent him from staging strong-hearted resistance.

"He was only here to learn from us. After all, he is doing that to help modernize and thousands of his countrymen are studying—"

"ENOUGH!" Dark Kiku bellowed his interruption, face flaring into a rage. He practically jumped upon and over the desk he had previously used as a footstool, the top of it littered with spent bottles of liquor like a myriad of pins stabbed into a pincushion, each jutting out with different shapes and designs.

They violently collided, lip against lip, Kiku resisting strongly for once.

Dark Kiku, in the throes of passionate heat pushed Kiku against the ground and straddled him.

Decisively he pulled his sword from its ever-blackened hull like a cherry blossoms' bark, only evilly twisted, it ringing loudly.

Cackling softly he slashed a ring around his ring finger, then lowering the sword to admire his handiwork, blood gleaming in soft escapes of light that filtered through breaks in the curtains.

Eye travelling to Kiku's own hand, avoiding his painful gaze and weakened breath, he took it. Raising his sword once again he slashed a ring of similar like into Kiku's ring finger, eliciting a gasp and widened eyes on Kiku's part.

Sinking down low, Dark Kiku whispered, "See? You belong to me, my wife," before blotting out any response with another cruel kiss like storm clouds choking out the light of the rising and setting sun.

* * *

The wind, its halting words are a gentle illusion

The clouds, the broken future like a distant voice

The moon, a heart flowing in the clouded mirror

The stars, broken and swaying, like tears unable to be hidden.

* * *

Last thoughts: In the years after the Sino-Japanese War, Japan took on "a benevolent yet arrogant concern for China," taking in revolutionary students, some disciples of Sun Yat-Sen, engaging in political, economical, and cultural lectures and assisting China. However, it didn't last for long as dissenting tides during the outcomes of World War I completely blotted out any "good" deeds Japan did in modernizing China. The extent of the modernization went pretty far, Japan even trekking deeper into China's strange and beautiful land more than any other Western power.

That's basically the reason for China coming to Japan. However, if you faithfully read your history book you may have remembered how China took Korea's side in (more than one) the first Sino-Japanese War. I wanted to embody China supporting and comforting the Koreas after the purge of Imperialism in those countries in a more Hetalia form just to show the extent of their injuries…which will get worse as time moves on.

About Russia and China…their relationship is going to get pretty bad, morphing into the semblance of Kiku's relationship with his darker half. Russia will be kind for awhile, but during the Cold War…you'll see.^^

The lyrics are from "Suteki da ne" from Final Fantasy X, one of my most favorite games ever~!

I hoped you liked this fairly uneventful chapter (to me).

Thanks to everyone who made this chapter possible!

As always, review, review, review!


	19. We Watch and Wait, 내 형제

_Black Sky and Sea-hot asphalt_

_Falling upside down or my consciousness_

_The justice which you draw subtly_

_And you beat the shield_

_Skip to believe_

_To paradise_

_The bird of paradise_

_Emotional circuitry_

_

* * *

_

Kiku was panting harshly, his lips burning as Kuroi Kiku's withdrew. The taste was permeating through his mouth and tasted like burning hot coals, too disgusting and heated to comprehend. The heat wasn't like that of a tropical land; no, it was more like the burning gut of a factory pouring molten metals past his lips.

_You will grow to love me, my wife, _purred Dark Kiku, his lips gently nipping Kiku's neck. Straightening himself, Dark Kiku took Kiku's bleeding hand and licked the outpouring ring of blood, sucking away the blood with relish. Kiku could no nothing but breathe and await his fate.

Dark Kiku craved the taste, drinking the blood wit the furious passion of a vampire. His eye closed at the flavor, taking in it a sick delight only he could. Kiku felt a sickening sensation rise within him, eyes fixated on Dark Kiku's beastly actions.

_Would you like for me to release you? _Dark Kiku chortled, lowering Kiku's hand and gazing at Kiku seductively, licking away the blood that had adorned his lips like rivulets. The words in Kiku's throat were frozen, his eyes still transfixed to Dark Kiku's shadowed face and wickedly gleaming eyes.

Kiku nodded, his voice cast away like a mute. That's all he could do for he feared for his life despite his darker half's loving proclamations.

Dark Kiku raised himself from the ground, grabbing Kiku's hand, which was now dry, pulling him upwards from the floor. Kiku flew upwards into his arms, a small and undignified squeak escaping his lips. Dark Kiku moved forwards, forcing Kiku to move backwards. He taller one pushed Kiku against a wall and kept him there.

_I will let the whole world know that you are mine, _Dark Kiku promised darkly. His hands bound Kiku's in an arresting grip, his body acting as a wall against Kiku. Kiku wanted to fight, to bolt, to kill even. But he knew each would garner unfavorable results as well as worse retaliation on Dark Kiku's part. Dark Kiku fiercely kissed Kiku, making the boy pale and frozen upon contact. Kiku began shivering, causing Dark Kiku to notice.

_My love, I am sorry for what I do to you. When we rule the world I will treat you with grace and lovingness…and you shall be my empress. _Dark Kiku said, releasing their lip contact and embracing Kiku like he thought a loving husband should. _You shall be reunited with your family under my rule._

At these words Kiku cried sharply, shoving a surprised and drunkenly uncoordinated Dark Kiku to the floor. He glared at his "husband" with eyes full of hate, wishing now more than ever to kill the imperialist.

"You will do nothing!" Tears began flowing from his eyes. "Release my brothers and sister! You must! This isn't right! I want peace for my people and all you feed them is war and lies!" Dark Kiku looked at him wide-eyed, too drunk to truly grasp what his "wife" was saying.

_What are these hideous words you speak, my love? _he inquired slowly and rather stupidly, lips moving with small motions. He slowly stood up, offering a hand to Kiku.

_I'm the only one who can protect you. I love you. Please…I'm the only one for you… _he said, voice in a depressed whisper. He waited, but Kiku neither moved towards him nor ran away.

"I'm finished with you. You know full well whom I love and who I hate," he said, glowering at the latter towards Dark Kiku, eyes full of unrepresentable enmity.

_No! _Dark Kiku cried as Kiku dashed from his darkened room and presence, watching dumbfounded as his beloved ran from him, unlikely to return.

* * *

Running forever never seemed so liberating before now. Usually it entailed becoming breathless after a matter of miles, but he could barely feel the strain on his body.

He ran blindly, searching for his beloved brothers and his precious Ai. He had to find them, and maybe even escape with them to somewhere safe. He thought he heard footsteps behind him, but remembered that Kuroi Kiku was too staggered by his own drunkenness to even stand correctly. This urged him to run even faster, disregarding what he was stepping over.

The forest he ran through was a haze of speckled emerald and sun-filtered jade, dappled shadows rising and bumping over harrowed earth of dead leaves and branches like old wizened staffs. Streaks of darkened bistre rose through and penetrated through to the canopy while other, shorter ones strayed behind, lagging for years on their journey to the sunny top. Kiku ran through these forests of summer, searching for someone he had almost given hope up in finding.

"Kiku."

Those words calmed and shocked him all at the same time. A hand reached out and took his, pulling him into a warm embrace.

Eyes sent aloft, he could see the reassuringly familiar branches of his beloved Ai, feeling the comfort of being the midst of two comforting entities.

"Yao-ge…" he began without continuing, arms encircling the one who loved, even though he couldn't admit it to himself, feeling lost in his warm, intoxicating scent.

"What did he do to you?" Yao demanded, releasing Kiku from his embracing grasp and gazing at him seriously and with concern. Kiku could only stare at his older brother before finally breaking down.

"Y-Yao-g-ge, h-he…" Kiku tried, but was unable to continue, tears overflowing and sobs choking out his speech. He lifted his finger, revealing to his older brother a terrible truth.

Yao's eyes widened in shock. He instantly snatched Kiku's finger, which was gushing blood, and let his tongue snake around it. Yao began sucking away the blood and…swallowing it!

"What are you—"he stammered, Kiku's voice in the high pitch of alarm.

"We can't let any bloodhounds trace your scent by blood. This will be one less thing that will allow them to find you," Yao said, his face paling from the high content of blood he was ingesting. Tears streamed down Kiku's face even more and he wrenched his hand away from Yao's mouth, scared at what the elder was doing.

"You can't do this! You'll hurt yourself…" Kiku mustered the most pleading gaze he could.

Yao stopped, a deer caught in the gaze of a lion, before averting his gaze and pulling his mouth in a grim line.

"…Kiku, I have to. I'm not just doing this for you. The Koreas are nearby and hiding. We're on the run as of now and we're taking you with us," Yao said with resolve, gripping Kiku's shoulders with conviction.

Kiku could only nod as Yao tore a length of cloth from his suit, that stifling Westernized suit that he hated to see so passionately constricting his brother's lithe body.

Using the cloth as a makeshift bandage, he quickly wrapped it around Kiku's bleeding finger, pulling it taut enough to restrict the flow of blood. He did so quickly, ready for flight.

"How do you plan to leave?" Kiku asked, unsure as to Yao's course of action. He was pulled into a standing position by the elder nation, he obviously ready for flight.

"We're going to smuggle ourselves aboard a merchant ship bound for my country. I will remain with you in hiding until negotiations can be made with Hei Riben and his superiors."

As they spoke, the two Koreas emerged from an outcropping of trees with determined yet fearful expressions, yearning to leave at a moment's notice yet deathly afraid of the consequences it might entail.

"Aniki," began North Korea, "what will happen from there?" South Korea looked at China pleadingly, searching his golden eyes for an answer.

Bowing his head and taking the Korean brothers' hands with each of his, he said, "What we do will work itself out. We'll find a way to stop him, I'm sure of it!" Yao said with cheerful determination, a sunny smile that belied his apprehension and sadness pulling across his face.

"Chaoxian-di, if it helps, please use me in the negotiations. I want to see you free, like before. Chaoxian-erdi, do you approve?" Kiku asked the taller Korean timidly, softening his gaze to one of familiar softness.

North Korea sighed, feeling more comfortable at the use of his Chinese name. Although he and his brother shared a name, it gave them a sense of unity, binding them closer as a true family.

"Erge, please, I don't want to use any of us for such a petty purpose. Why would you do such a thing? It's unlike you to offer to do things like that," North Korea with calm observance, always one of the wisest ones.

Kiku sprang to his feet, pacing around in gracefully grim contemplation. He seemed to dance and flit like a nervous butterflies from flower to flower, those flowers his thoughts.

"Imperial Japan has decided to make me his wife," Japan said with a saddened smile, flying to the ground to sit on his knees. "It's so very interesting. He seems to love me very much so I thought it would be for the best if you used me against him." He lowered his head more, a shadow hiding his eyes like a grim shade.

"Er...ge?" South Korea started, large sleeves moving to cover his mouth in horror. Kiku removed the makeshift bandage around his finger and showed it for his brothers. North Korea's face crowded in a stormy anger; China averted his eyes, perhaps in guilt; and Im Yong Soo let his face fall into one of bleakness.

"In the west, husbands and wives wear rings around their 'ring finger' adorned with a diamond to signify their eternal bond. This is his version. The scar should last long enough...but even if it fades he will renew our 'vows' at any given chance." Kiku wrapped it up again, covering it in shame. Was it his destiny to be tamed by someone who was literally his 'evil twin'?

They all fell silent; the only discernible sound their quieted breathing.

Yao was the first to stand, a sense of urgent adventure filling him.

"Well, let's not stick around for that bastard to find us. Let's go, shall we?"

* * *

They hitched rides in wagons, automobiles, horses, and trekked through seemingly uninhabited forests. Kiku had brought with him an immodest amount of money to pay for food and supplies, forsaking inns, and worse, grandiose westernized hotels of the big cities. Once they left Tokyo, the start from their escape from Kuroi Kiku's clutches, everyone could breathe just a bit easier at night.

Kiku always feared Dark Kiku appearing by modes of metaphysical transportation, and yet nothing happened. If anything, a huge, cumbersome burden had been lifted from his shoulders. The hard training he was forced to endure for the sake of weak submission actually made him stronger. He carried more than anyone, actually creating a competition between them. Each carried more than he should, each breaking every once in awhile to let another rest.

They had become closer now than ever before. Because Taiwan was safe back on her beloved, tiny island nation he felt even more relief. Each of them did and expressed it as such.

The nights and days were long, but their familial camaraderie seemed virtually endless. They were reunited as a family again. They lamented over the loss of Xiang Gang, worried excessively for Taiwan, but most all they talked about each other. Dark Kiku was the main topic of conversation, usually referred to as "that person" or he was scathingly called a more cursory name, such a thing each of them enjoyed doing. Each divulged in their pasts as deep as an endless abyss, learning things none of them before had known.

While they tried to enjoy themselves a bit, it was nearly impossible. At night they had watches for the sake of guarding one another, camping in deep wildernesses they had once been accustomed to long ago, old skills for survival surfacing and assisting them greatly. It was true; long, long ago they had lived extremely frugal and primitive lives before being rudely interrupted by the luxuriousness of modern living. They were able to become closer this way, despite some hard feelings towards Kiku. Although they knew it was truly Dark Kiku's fault, their shared faces made it a bit harder for the Koreas and China to reconcile Japan.

"We're here," China announced suddenly, withdrawing his eyes from the browning and crumpled map, eyes surveying the modest spread of still fairly traditional Japanese buildings.

"It looks like any other town we've seen," interjected Im Yong Soo, closely following behind his older brother. His eyes studied the small fishing port, mouth griming at the sight of young boys scampering about in the streets below who would someday be emotionless beasts of the Imperial army. North Korea put a placating hand on his younger brother's shoulder, shaking his head.

"They might grow to resist. Don't be so quick to pass judgment," North Korea said evenly, eyes filled with a softening calm.

"I do hope your right, Chaoxian-nim," Kiku sighed, eyes clouding over in contemplation. The Koreas turned around to acknowledge his presence before turning back towards the village, making way to Yao's side. Kiku timidly followed, really wondering if his "brothers'" words would truly come to pass.

"Kiku, let's go," Yao encouraged, his soft gaze making Kiku's tense heart melt. Kiku ran to his side and walked especially close to him, doing his best to be as close as possible to his Gege…no, the person he truly loved but was too fearful to admit his feelings to.

They trekked down to the village, Kiku being the only linguist who understood the language well, getting past the barriers of regional dialect and thick accents to get where they needed to be.

It being in the softening pastel colors of evening, their journey would transpire into night and carry them for many weeks. They were in the port city closest to the Korean peninsula which would minimize their journey to a much shorter duration. After landing on the Korean peninsula they would take another ship or boat immediately afterwards across the Yellow Sea and into China where they would find safe harbor.

Yao and Kiku wouldn't admit, but some people were very desperate for their return. Kiku, Dark Kiku's "wife", was being pursued by his darker half while Yao was being hunted down by his anxious "lover" Ivan, who was as desperate as Dark Kiku to get his lovely treasure back.

"Ah, yes, we have a ship that's headed in the direction you are and is scheduled to leave for tonight. I can't promise a leisurely journey but it should be adequate for your hurried state of travel," an old fisherman said, adjusting the brim of his woven hat.

Kiku bowed low, respecting the man who was several times his junior but looked many times as old. "Arigato," he said in sincere gratitude. Walking in lengthened strides to his "family" he divulged the news in hushed yet excited tones. Each blessed fate for their superb luck, South Korea scampering towards the awaiting boat moored nearby.

* * *

_YOU DAMN IDIOT! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T FIND HIM? _thundered Kuroi Kiku, his tone approaching a raspy hoarseness. It took tempered patience to keep him from hurting the man before him or worse. He rested his head in his hands like a mourning maiden, breathing with purposeful loudness and irritation, making the lone man before him extremely uncomfortable. For this one moment the militia man was able to imagine what Kiku went through, a new respect forming for his nation's representative.

"We came a-at d-dead end…sir," the man saluted weakly, body stiffening in fear. In the darkness Dark Kiku looked like a snarling beast ready to burst from its den in feral anger.

_I provided you with bloodhounds…AND YOU LOST THE TRAIL?_ Dark Kiku burst, voice exploding in anger. He glared at the man with his infamous soulless black eyes, tapping the tips of his fingers together like a spider's quick moving limbs.

"W-We did t-the best w-we could…sir," the man said, lowering his head not out of shame, but of sheer terror.

Dark Kiku inhaled a sharp breath before releasing it shakily.

_Get out on my sight before I go something I regret,_ Dark Kiku said in cruel dismissal, glaring with pure hatred at the man. Before he could blink the man had scattered like a bird in the midst of an angry predator.

He began sobbing.

_Kiku…Kiku! Why have you run from me? Why are you gone? I love you so much, you son of a goddess!_ he cried, a tortuous sob ripping from his throat. His hand instantly snatched a bottle of sake. He bit off the cork containing and spit it aside, chugging down the alcohol, the only thing keeping him sane as of late. Drops of sake escaped his throat and ran down his chin in rivulets like tears. He drank through half the bottle before choking on it from the accumulation of many sobs.

The loud glugging continued as he began finishing the large bottle off, a drunk flush entering his cheeks. Tears ran down as he did, confusing his mind. It didn't know what emotions to channel through: a dullness or sadness?

Finished, he hurled the bottle away in a terrific burst of anger. Clutching his stomach, he could feel it churning in unpleasant swirls, obviously sickened by his sharp intake of alcohol like a quick breath. He forced it down, face turning green from the effort.

After a few moments, it subsided. Dark Kiku forced himself to breathe normally, breaths mixing with burning tears. He slumped to the ground and curled into a fetal position, hands wrapped around his stomach. If he weren't so insanely evil he might've been pitied.

* * *

_But you do not know y__et which is tomorrow_

_The Bird of paradise_

_Cannot see it color_

_The bird of paradise_

_The sound which you have not heard_

_I reflect in the middle of you and me_

_Rotting the ravine of the building that falls_

_Burning the center of the sore forest_

_The bird of paradise hasn't seen the world_

_

* * *

_

Last thoughts: Well, it seems this is finally getting some noteworthy plot! The Southeast Asian family is going to China in an attempt to escape Dark Kiku and Dark Kiku is trying to get them back. Russia will be there too, so I think it'll be interesting. I've got it all planned in my head and I must say that you should like it as well, my awesomesause readers. I also have a little preposition for you all~

The 100th reviewer will get a one-shot written by me with any coupling of their choosing. I'm really serious about getting reviews and want to get a lot so may the best one win! This may seem a little pushy…and this may be the only thing to get all of you lurkers to review. –Pleading puppy-eyed look- Please? Lots of reviews will also make me update faster so… -sneaky~-

History: Nothing has really changed except I've discovered that during the 20th century Japan, especially Tokyo, seemed to be the home ground for many revolutionaries, mainly students, who were hugely influential in the anti-imperialist efforts in the Koreas and China. Kind of interesting, isn't it? That's why Japan (the person, not the nation) is all for his brothers resisting efforts. That and he hates Imperial Japan… I'll do a lot of research in case you're not getting this, okay?

The lyrics, in italics, at the top and at the bottom are from the song Bird of Paradise sung by Kagamine Rin.

Thanks for understanding my stupid plea…but please review…

Translations:

**-nim**: a Korean honorific similar to the Japanese "-san"

**-Chaoxian**: Chinese name for the Koreas

(Sorry for not including these in the past! I'll add translations to earlier chapters, I promise!

As always, review, review, review!


	20. The Sea Is Caribbean Blue, 我的天使

_Let me sail, let me sail: let the Orinoco Flow.__  
__Let me reach, let me beach on the shores of Tripoli__  
__Let me sail, let me sail: let me crash upon your shore__  
__Let me reach, let me beach far beyond the Yellow Sea_

_

* * *

_

The gentle lulling of the ship made them all wander into sleep, except for one. His mind was particularly restless, it cast among the stars, searching for an answer in the ancient stain of stars and the ever-gazing moon and his pure, opalescent light that was the sole provider of any light. The one wandering nation wanted to feel lost in young memories while his shakily nerved family slept. He wanted to relive the beloved past so badly that his heart ached and squeezed, as if whimpering in its loneliness. He could feel the constricting sadness and fear swimming through his consciousness, spreading like dull venom or a powerful and poignant anesthetic. Coming out on the small, foot worn decks of the ship had a strangely lulling affect on the nation's mind, like a sword being soothed not by the sparking grating wheel but a smooth and gentle cloth. The starlit sky whispered tidings of peace and whispered a gentle lullaby. The aged and maternal nature of the ship took him and enveloped him in old memories, swaddling as a blanket, familiar scents of days long by wafting in a breeze of dreams past his nose, filling his mind's eye with lilting voices of people gone and very dear to him. Pochi's falsetto bark made him think of warm fur and soft afternoons in the lazy heat of summer and the sun-kissed clouds, vessels of flight and dreamy escape that lagged behind in the sky like sea foam. The night dark sea of navy and mystery was a mother's rocking arms, soothing him into a sleepy reverie, the wavering and rising of Tsukiyomi's reflection seemed to epitomize a sense of family. Nippon had never felt so protected, his parents and his fellow nations of endearing relations were there with him. All of the world's ills and his own personal problems were kept at bay by a shield of noble kindness and loving strength.

A waterfall of crashing waves surged upon the worn wood that he stood upon; moonlight captured in the droplets and preserved there, heaven and the waters of life mixing in beautiful and harmonious delight. Shimmering orbs of aqua stars were cast into the night sky, a celestial artist painting the sky with stars. The heavens were quiet, the sky alight with entities of pure light, the sea lulling the world to sleep, and the moon gazing with protected silence his only child; Japan. The wooden rails of the floating crib kept him in place as he gazed out to the stretches of the vast horizons, unable to see places maps pitifully minimized. The currents ebbed and flowed like the embracing and retreating pull of the moon, yin and yang complimenting and contrasting each other. Their first night at sea had been the most soothing in ages. There were no military consorts, no guns to be had, no bullets blazing in and out of his mind. It was so peaceful and calming he could've fallen asleep right then and now. The chorus of angels seemed to resonate with the waves, capturing the essence of peace and a heavenly simplicity.

"The night is long, but you seem to be enjoying yourself," a voice said with deliberate intrusion, disturbing Kiku's meditation on the water. He turned around just in time to be captured in the warm embrace of his gege, their breaths misting in the mildly chilly air. Kiku held the upper half of Yao's back, an echoing angel's voice filling his mind. Yao held Kiku in the area by his neck and back, soothing his hand in small circles on Kiku's jutting spine. Japan turned his head against Yao's chest, Yao resting his cheek on the crown of Kiku's head; both were staring out at the unbelievably restful ocean, their minds wandering and blissful lost above and under the waves, the only thing grounding them in reality was their warmth, an aura that surrounded and blended with their sleepy emotions.

"As are you," Kiku said, blank as to their surroundings, lost in nature's intoxicating beauty. Yao huffed slightly in the cool air, basking in the crisp freshness of the sea, reveling in their symbiotic warmth.

"Kiku-di," he said with alertness, slowly dragging Kiku from the sweet salty air and darkened heights.

"Yes, Yao-ge?" he replied, voice lilting with the shimmering cool breeze. They pulled apart a bit, only to revile the space between them, Yao pulling them together again in loneliness. For so long their arms had been filled with unwanted yet forceful presences and such moments were treasured, strands of these pearlescent memories few on silvery chains, small and so treasured in the way they captured the opalescent moon and innocent stars; the proud yet gentle sun.

"How do you feel about me now? Dark Kiku is miles away…Russia is nowhere to be seen…there is no reason to fear any consequences," Yao practically whispered, voice enamored in the placid zephyr of winds.

Kiku pulled away, eyes riveted to the ground running with rivulets of glimmering sea water and brine. Something echoed in his mind hauntingly; the stab of his scarred finger shot through his mind and ruined the hard-to-obtain sense of peace that was as fleeting and grounded as a flighty bird who escaped to the four winds at almost every chance, night and exhaustion being few of its only liberators.

His heart beat and thud in an echoing room, the sound ricocheting off the walls of his mind like enormous drums stifled and vibrational in deepening waters. "Yao-ge…I—" he stopped, an ominous feeling filling his fragile glass heart.

Yao was worried by Kiku's sudden freezing, like a small buttercup in a sudden frost, buttered light stifled beneath the cruel hushing of winter.

"Kiku-di, please, he's not here. It's only us four and the two captains piloting this ship. There's no need to fear. He's gone…and hopefully we'll never see 'him' again," Yao whispered soothingly, like a breath heating a frosted window. Hopefully no raindrops would sluice down that deep and enduring window.

Kiku could feel his heart beat like an erratic butterfly's, thudding and fluttering against his sternum.

"Yao-ge," Kiku began in a voice small as a child preparing to speak to a large crowd, "now isn't the time. There's something I want to say…how I feel about you…but these crises must end. Please, try to understand. I'm sure you know…but 'he' can feel me. If he senses such emotions aimed towards anyone else but himself…he'll attack us and end our journey, forever." Kiku's eyes sank into a vision of sleep, his hand holding the scarred band finger. Yao studied this action, but for only an instant. He let his own take Kiku's horribly scarred one and lifted the scabbed ring to his lips and gently touched it with those lips, feeling Kiku shudder involuntarily.

"Let him understand this: he has no place among us. You have no need to fear him, didi," Yao said soothingly, letting Kiku's hand float deliberately to the younger nation's side.

Kiku felt tears spring to his eyes, the stoic warrior giving way to a gentle and loving heart. Those tears burnt hot and salty as a boiling salt water sea down his cheeks, the fires of fear and submission taming and confining his heart.

"I-I'm his…wife… He controls me," he whispered like a breeze drifting around pushing away the calm and friendly clouds, always relentlessly pursued by an angry and possessive thunderstorm.

"No!" came the night-shattering break of Yao's voice, the older man seizing Kiku in an embrace to calm and soothe. Japan's breathing was staggered like a deer driven far to escape the predator. "No, Kiku… You are control of your own actions. Someday soon Dark Kiku will be a forgotten bubble in our deep and expansive memories. He'll disappear and you'll become a place that will learn to scorn and forget him…his memory will transcend your people's consciousness and he'll fade away."

Kiku let his breathing calm, the effect like the eye of a storm, the other side approaching but the world still until the approach of the other side. He felt something in his empty and grasping hand, unfurling it like the sails of a small schooner prepping itself for the azure currents of the sea.

In it was a red blossom petal, smooth and reddening with the life of blood, said petal beginning to melt into blood. Kiku started horribly, making Yao only embrace him tighter, a hollowness filling them both and filling them with despair. Their love, it seemed, wasn't enough to conquer Hei Riben's coiling and twisting darkness.

* * *

"You have something to do with this, da?" thundered Russia, eyes already having flashed with the blaze of lightning. He stared hard and full at Lithuania, the small Baltic nation bracing himself from the lance of icy feelings before him.

Russia's hair was troubled and disheveled; his eyes bloodshot from fevering worry, clothes askew and even dirty from impassioned search and failed recovery. His eyes were beginning to sink into a hollow purple, smoky and gem less, completely unlike his eyes, although it looked more like he was dying inside. Everything had been torn, like a bear had attacked him, and worn from his endless searches. He was now in China, heading for the opulent capital of Beijing, Lithuania forced to stay at his side.

Toris was frozen where he was standing, pressing himself against a wall, flattening himself against it, breath withheld and mind silently praying that the ground would open up and swallow him where he stood. Russia and he were now inside a Westernized hotel, their room of a plain standard. However, with the window curtains drawn the atmosphere became much more sinister and menacing.

Ivan leered and pressed in closer, making Toris' heart skip in fearful beat. The Russian man was now full height over the smaller man, his presence doubly terrifying and ready to kill, a feral anger emanating from his already Siberian cold demeanor. It was a wonder what made China so close to this powerful and childishly sadistic nation.

"W-What do you m-mean?" Lithuania struggled, cowering downwards from the voice like abrasive guitar skids, metallic and frightening. Russia raised a sarcastically mocking eyebrow, inwardly infuriated with a murderous rage at Lithuania's poor-hearted recalcitrance. His eyes were baleful and pleading before Russia, who was actually hiding the fullest of his homicidal intent.

"I mean my lovely dear's disappearance!" Russia said gratingly against Lithuania's ears, voice cauterizing like the burning of metal, which Russia's voice certainly seemed to be doing.

"You made him run from me, didn't you? Didn't you?" his voice bellowed again, hands poised to take Lithuania and shake him. His breath was captured by Russia's abysmal eyes, transporting his sanity to unparalleled levels of insanity.

Lithuania suddenly gathered a newfound strength, a voice and will within bursting forth and presenting itself with an almost regal baring, a reluctant flower finally in bloom. The brunette pulled a concealed pistol from the depths of the deeply pocketed uniform, the Baltic nation's eyes blazing. Russia stepped back cautiously, affronted by Lithuania's sudden assault on his pride and domineering person.

"You LISTEN to me, Vanya," Toris growled richly, a rage swelling and failing to recede before the incredibly intimidating man. "Do you wonder why Mr. Wang left you? Did you ever think that this whole time, even the slightest, that he may be harboring feelings for someone else? YOU STOLE his affections and wrongly deposited them within your own heart, alluding and deceiving on a path harrowed and blanketed in fog!"

Russia stepped away from Toris and his blazing pistol, the blackened thing gleaming with wicked intent. His finger was curling around the trigger, delicately poised to pull it back, cool metal embracing his warmed skin. Lithuania took a step forward away from the wall, gathering courage within himself, maybe like a lion.

"I'm sick of your manipulations. All of my life…I've had to suffer under you! Well, that shall be no more!" Toris vowed into the electrified air, both hands steadying the gun. Ivan's face was not filled with shock any longer; instead, he looked rather enigmatic.

"Toris, why are you so upright in the head? Something is wrong with you, da?" Ivan asked, pixie smile curling on his face, eyes wide and catty in delight. They were shining ominously to Toris who suddenly felt the adrenaline of strength drain from his body faster than a drop of water on a sizzling hot grill on a summer's day. He was frozen, unable to act, gun paralyzed in his hands.

"N-No…" he breathed, sensing Ivan regain his evil aura fully, swirling purples and twirling shadows. The air between them heated and froze again in a continual cycle, an unnatural symphony of predator and prey. Ivan suddenly sped towards him in the blink of an eye, scarf billowing behind in an unholy wind. His gloved hand seized Toris' gun-holding one in a vice.

"You know better than to defy me, da?" Ivan asked, voice soft and yet crackling with a commanding presence. He squeezed his hand with increasing levels of pressure, making Toris cry weakly in pain, eyes squeezing shut and body writhing in pain. Sweat began tracking swiftly down his face, salty beads clinging to his jaw before releasing themselves into the Baltic's worn clothes. Ivan smiled in fiendish satisfaction, eyes closing in trademark style. Toris was forced to drop the gun, fearing the sounds of his bones cracking and grating against the other, hand swollen red.

Ivan released Toris' hand in sudden dismissal, turning his back to Toris to retrieve the gun. He inspected it, clicking here and there to release the cartridge of bullets on to his open palm. Admiringly he held one up, turning it and watching as the light glanced off and on it, smiling slightly. Now he didn't bare the face of a cold-blooded nation, rather he looked fairly innocent. His multiple personalities gained admiration and fear among all who knew him, especially those under him who made his borders larger.

Toris watched onwards in sick fascination, one eye clamped shut and the other squinting to see, his vision clouded by an electric pain. His uninjured hand clutched the wounded and swelling one, the red as fierce as an Italian tomato's hue. He had sunk to the floor in miserly subservience to Ivan, not by his own will.

"Toris," the Russian said in a solo voice, making the Lithuanian flinch, "my Jade Treasure will return to me. He's coming back from Japan and shall be at my side for the rest of time. Our alliance will eclipse the other world powers; I will make him beautiful and strong. The seeds of revolution are soon to be sown." He deftly pocketed the bullets in a hidden socket. Tailcoats swishing, hair wafting slightly in his turning, Ivan stalked from the room, finding himself delighted and distracted by the machinations his mind was concocting.

* * *

"Imperial-sama, please, we can't leave now! Kiku-sama will return with the Koreas and you will be reunited. You can't leave now! There's no vessel fit for service; and you yourself shouldn't travel in your present state!" a naval officer of fair rank warned, chasing Dark Kiku as the apparition unsteadily sprinted through the halls, mellowed and sharp in his drunkenness and strange breed of alertness. His eyes were boiling with blurry determination, strides long and unmatched.

A hand was placed upon his shoulder gently and the Dark half viciously whirled about to strike the man, a cry tumbling with the naval officer to the ground. Dark Kiku, poised to strike, loomed eerily over the man, a guttural tone enveloping his voice, _You have no place in my grand design! _It came out as a vile hiss, his pupils, if able to be seen, narrowing to cool slits. A kick of finality to the stomach silenced the man into unconsciousness. Dark Kiku resumed his determined march, unstoppable.

A group of smoking and leisurely naval officers in a small and smoky room like an izakaya bar were crowded around a circular table playing poker in a thick veil of cigarette smoke. The sound of footsteps brought them to attention, the room silent in their whisperings; they could feel the approach of Imperialism like animals of the sixth sense. There was no time to prepare as the door was barged open with a human battering ram; a poor officer who had unwisely decided to lean against it was hurled aside and into a wall, his soft moans driving them to fearful alertness. Dark Kiku stood before them with an aura like a furious blaze, his eyes gleaming with a command of death and ill-intent. The men assembled at the table and around the small room and kitchenette scrambled to align themselves with military symmetry. Dark Kiku surveyed with a dark impatience, silent for only a moment.

_I've come to your lowly pleasuring for only one reason, gentlemen. I require a crew to man a craft fit for sea travel to moor briefly in Korea and then to China. I will travel inland to Beijing so that I may recapture the Koreas and Japan who are sheltering themselves there, away from where they should be. I will need an able-bodied crew to come with me. Meet at Tokyo's main military docking area in 1400 hours! Any stragglers or men set to abandon will be punished severely, _Dark Kiku rushed in a commanding hiss. His penetrating glare seized their attentions with acute accuracy, fear radiating beneath war-worn exteriors.

His eyes blazing through their souls for a few more brief seconds, he departed, closing the door behind him with surprising softness. He rushed again, down the hall of the military headquarters to his office partitioned from the rest of the clumped cubicles and military wings. The room was fairly large, crown moldings accenting golden walls of fleur-de-lei style designs highlighted in gold leaf. The floors were of lush velveteen and occasional peeks of lacquered wood floors in the corners and edges. At the very back of the room was a finely molded mantelpiece of white mounted by fine porcelain vases and framed pictures of decorative metals. The fireplace was screened off by a fanning, peacock-like ornamental brass screen, blocking the sooty maw within. Lining the walls were high shelves encumbered with heavy leather-bond tomes of varying thickness, gold-stamped titles gleaming proudly beneath the light of a chandelier of crystallized dewdrops and tears which shone enticingly like a myriad of South African diamonds. The ceiling was domed in Free Gothic style, elegant and ornate molds of twirling vines and flowers twisting their way to the center, symmetrical as a snowflake. Pieces of furniture, lacquered dresser-like tables and chairs, lined the walls, infrequently used as a museum piece. Dead center, right beneath the cheerful castings of light of the shimmering chandelier, was Dark Kiku's heavy and ornate desk which was flanked by two modest chairs. It was bulbous and perhaps too large for the petite "nation," drawers handled by curvaceous brass lions seemed more suitable for one of extremely high office. A large leather chair with a polished shine sat behind, puffing loudly as Dark Kiku sank tiredly into it, white gloved hand holding his tired and wary face.

The ticking of a red rococo bracket clock was brought to Dark Kiku's attention, the French timepiece displaying the time as quarter to noon; Kuroi Kiku would be departing in about two hours for his voyage to China, the country and person he despised and longed to control. Kiku had been gone for approximately two days at sea, eating away at Dark Kiku's meager sanity. He was already packed; the trip had been planned and devised the day before. All he required was a cooperative crew and fine steamship to take him to where he needed to be; according to his intel Kiku had taken a shipping vessel from Fukuoka and was bound for Korea and then mainland China, and were probably going to land at Tianjin and head to Beijing from there. Once in Beijing he would confront one the world's oldest countries and take back the Koreas and Japan. Hopefully, it might even be bloodless.

He studied the political world map before him, focusing on East Asia. The course of his journey from Tokyo to Tianjin had already been allotted, estimated provisions and time allocated properly, calculated by Dark Kiku's swift and darkened mind. Despite being so treacherous, he was extremely intelligent. And this intelligence would serve him in the long run when he outmaneuvered the renegade family and burned into their deep memories who were truly in charge of their lives.

* * *

"Yao-ge?"

"Yes, Kiku-di?" came Yao's soft response. They were sitting atop the towering superstructure of the ship, gazing out at the mythical night sky and innocent twinkling stars, the aura of the encroaching dawn glimmering on the horizon and vast water. They were silent as they leaned on the other's shoulders, patiently awaiting the arrival of the liberating dawn from night's quiet and meditative shroud.

"What will it be like…when we return home?" Kiku shyly glanced away for a moment, cheeks consumed in a warming blush. "Can we be a family again, like old times?"

Yao smiled at this, a hand encircling Kiku's shoulders. His golden gaze reflected the beautiful expanse of night sky, glowing colors of the night swimming in his glistening eyes like a pool of golden water mixing with the dyes and colors of night. "I'd like that very much. Even if we must feign peace, we'll forge for ourselves peace." His words were wise, filling Kiku's mind like a drop of water rippling throughout his mind.

The blood petal from earlier Kiku washed away with sea water; it felt strangely rejuvenating and uplifting. He let his soul mingle in the mysticism of night, entwining it among the legends of the stars. As the world and their brothers slept, Yao and Kiku eagerly awaited the first sunrise, free from pain and turmoil, away from those possessive of them. This is where they belonged; together, at peace, on waters of Caribbean blue.

* * *

_From the North to the South, Ebudae unto Khartoum.__  
__From the deep Sea of Clouds to the Island of the Moon.__  
__Carry me on the waves to the lands I've never been.__  
__Carry me on the waves to the lands I've never seen.__  
__We can sail, with the Orinoco flow._

_

* * *

_

Last thoughts: Okay, I'm sorry for such a long delay. I'll be quicker next time! I plan on posting another chapter this week to make up for it, so all should be well~

History wise…there's nothing. It's no different from the last chapter and, if anything, this particular arc contains no history-relevant plot. I'm really glad that Yao and Kiku were able to have their cute moments. I don't know about you, but listening to Enya makes you roll out the metaphors and similes…in overkill. That's why I really enjoyed this chapter, though.

So basically, Dark Kiku's still mad and Russia is still set to get his "jade treasure" back from Kiku's clutches. I don't know what to call this…a love square? It seems to be that way since our main couple has their "luvers" still after them. Man, the next chapter will be something else. I'm not one for spoilers but you'll definitely see lots of Dark Kiku vs. Russia, maybe the Koreas thrown into the fray. Speaking of the Koreas, I found this really cute OC of North Korea that I'm considering using for North Korea since it would be sad if you had no idea what he looked like. I found the picture on DA so I'll be sure to cite my source~

The lyrics are from Orinoco Flow by Enya.

Thanks for reviewing, lurkers included!

As always, review, review, review!


	21. The Dove With Clipped Wings, 내 동생 침묵

_... Eurus ..._

_... Afer Ventus ..._

_... so the world goes round and round_

_with all you ever knew -_

_They say the sky high above_

_is Caribbean blue ..._

* * *

The sky was brooding on that day, but it seemed all the better to disguise them under. The moon was hidden in a cloak of translucent clouds, his thin glowing silhouette illuminating the sky. A ring of light was painted in the sky, illuminating the paths of the four people smuggling themselves to a place known yet so distant. They were in the red majesty of Beijing, illustriousness second to the foreign dominated seaside city of Shanghai. This was the place of the sprawling might of the Forbidden City, the domain of countless dynasties and the emperors who reigned divine. Wang Yao's home was in the older wards of the city, although the bulk of it was quite ancient. Some residents resided in homes, siheyuan, or courtyard homes, places once reserved for the noble elite. One home in particular, aged and grand in Chinese tradition, was Yao's. It had belonged to him for hundreds of years and extensive care was taken in maintaining the opulent halls and decadent garden within.

Yao's siheyuan was modestly sized, something he preferred, with just enough room for his formerly large family. It contained an outer wall with an affixed arched gateway that was just tall enough for the passage of a rider on horseback. The inner walls contained the courtyard and sweeping roofs of the four halls; one for the servants, one for himself and his family, and the last was used for storage. With Yao's intense memory and spanning artifacts there wasn't even room for necessary food.

The highly silhouetted moon cast meager illumination on the dirt streets below, pebbles skittering past the approach of four night-cloaked people, their rushed strides suggesting urgency.

"Yao-ge," Kiku said in a floating whisper, attracting the butterfly attentions of his "brother". Yao walked silently to Kiku's side, earning inquiring glances from the Koreas, Chaoxian-di, North Korea, especially suspicious, his copper rose eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. Chaoxian-erdi, South Korea, wasn't very concerned, more interested in finding Yao's home before someone more ominous could. Almost two months at sea still wasn't enough to rid them of their wariness, North Korea as on guard as ever, a snake always ready to strike.

The moonlight cupped Yao's face, his eyes capturing the light like a polished topaz held to the warm sun. No longer hooded, his ebony hair was streaked by pale moonlight. "We're almost there, Kiku-di," he said, holding a finger nearly engulfed by large sleeves to his soft lips, subtly smiling. Although being at sea didn't improve the Koreas unsettled emotions much, for Kiku and Yao the freedom they had experienced was a thriving relief for them, Amaterasu and Tsukiyomi never so dear to Kiku.

They practically floated through the many enclosed hutong, or alleyways. The moon slanted off high courtyard walls of many other likeminded siheyuan, Kiku appreciating their delicate architecture while the Koreas practically blazed past Kiku and Yao, the sounds of the night urging them, guided by memory. The bark of a dog or the cackle of a raven as well as many other infrequent animal calls pervaded the night air, somewhat ruining the quiet and meditative aura the night always held to Japan.

"Here we are, Kiku." They stood before the worn arched gateway covered by an encompassing tile roof, both nations gazing upon it with silent familiarity and memorial reflection. They entered through it silently, the Koreas having already trekked ahead. For one long, peaceful moment Kiku and Yao were left to leisurely tread onwards, the great door chafed with age and weathering, eroded by harsh winter winds and unstable, humid summers.

The courtyard spanned before them, the largest of the four halls directly before them and alit from within, warm glowing lights of candles dancing enticingly behind frosted windows. Yao smiled, thinking that the Koreas had rushed within and decided to light many of the room for them. Kiku basked in the far-casting glow of the main hall, walking placidly to Yao's side.

They were surprised to see the Koreas in the middle of the courtyard, their eyes gaping, mouths clamped shut. Yao walked amusedly up to their sides, thinking that they had simple returned from the inside to journey inside together. However, when he saw their faces, pale as the moon, he immediately sensed that something was wrong.

Kiku rushed over to his Yao-ge, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing on end. All four stood, transfixed, on one of the windows, their thudding heartbeats the only thing heard in the hushed night air. The tall silhouette of a man came into view, in profile. He was grasping a tall bottle of unknown liquor, the contents swishing and dancing in shadows like a shadow-puppet show in the window. The bottle was suddenly held upwards, the drinker drinking with a pirate's swill. The contents were emptied, the bottle held more firmly and then hurled straightforward at the window.

Glass collided violently together, a mosaic of warm light preserving for an instant before shattering to the ground. The shards clamored in cacophonous pitch to the outer hall like a porch below, startling the four nations. South Korea and Japan started badly, China and North Korea unflinchingly holding their ground. Japan tried to hold his ground, reassuringly holding the hilt of his sword beneath the consuming cloak. South Korea did as well, a wavering expression of courage mixed with fear beholding his face.

"Why did you not return to me, мой подлый дорогой?" Russia asked with a drunken accent, cocking his head childishly. His amethyst eyes shone brightly like a predator, his whole front consumed in malicious shadow. Yao narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows, obviously taking on an irritation. Russia stood silently for a moment before leaping on the hollowed window frame, the circular space just big enough for his massive and hunched body.

"I needed four months away from you; two with our enemies and family, another two at sea with those closest to my heart," Yao explained, eyes holding Ivan's with a golden ferocity, annoyed by the Russian calling him "my sneaky dear." To this Ivan frowned, leaping down again with a cumbersome thud. He approached slowly, gloved hands clenching and unclenching, breathing heavily in preparation for something.

While this went on, Kiku couldn't help but notice a blackened presence from behind, said being escaping his vision. His heart was beginning to fill with dread, heartbeat ready to explode from his chest.

_Why did you leave me, my love?_ A voice of serpentine coolness inquired. The Koreas and Kiku nearly had a heart attack. Kiku's blood seemed to thicken and harden in his veins, snow channeling through his body. Demons taunted his mind, bringing forth a myriad of disturbing memories Kiku had tried so hard to keep suppressed under a blanket of happiness, however forced. That dauntless will he'd fostered over the past four months crumbled immediately, his adrenaline spiking and his mind numbing. The Koreas encountered similar symptoms, pupils widening to unparalleled sizes, North Korea seizing a dagger from its holster and letting his eyes flash around him, trying to find where the omniscient voice emanated from, high ponytailed hair and shortly layered under layer swishing with him. As fluid as his controlled movements were, there was no hiding his dread and apprehension. South Korea did something similar, his hair-curl drooping, dagger flashing and glancing off moonlight like his shaded brother's.

"San-ge?" Im Yong Soo pensively whispered, taking his brother's back. North Korea didn't respond; his sword-arm whitened, his knuckles paling under the pressure he seized his dagger under.

Russia and Yao turned to listen to the voice of sultry desire aimed at Kiku; even Ivan felt his spirits plummet slightly at the sound of the merciless villain.

Kiku was suddenly seized from behind, an arm around his waist and upper abdomen. From behind he felt Dark Kiku's stifling heat and darkness, making him burst out in a cold sweat; his hands quickly became clammy and his skin drenched in sweat, chilling in the midnight wind. Dark Kiku didn't hesitate for a second, lips touching down on Kiku's neck, gloved hand pulling away the clasp on Kiku's cloak with terrific force. He ripped it off and quickly tore down the front of Kiku's kimono. He pushed Kiku towards a wall, slamming the small nation's body into the serrated concrete. He could feel the bumps tearing through his skin and forcing blood to gush out like venom squeezed forcefully from a snake's fangs.

Kuroi Kiku's eyes were bloodshot, tears forming at the corners. Coal and soot clung to his face, dirt here and there, clean trails streaking where tears had fallen like a ghastly theater mask. His lips were dry and callous, clothes ripping from months of wild desperation and manipulation. He smelled of sweat and nature, a scent that offended Kiku's nose. But his eyes…those eyes that gazed adoringly and with homicidal intent, fever and desperation, wildness imbued with obsessive love. They were wide and pouring a cacophonous concoction of so many extremes. His was whispering furiously in Japanese, words so unintelligible he couldn't understand.

_Aishiteru, aishiteru, aishiteru,_ he whispered in multitudes, a brainless desperation, ready to break him. Kiku didn't know it was possible to show such anger and sadness all at once. Despite his madness, the sight of Kiku seemed to calm him. For four months he'd been without Kiku, four lonely and impossible months that exceeded the limits of his insanity that turned him into a primitive bushman. He had ditched his men in Tianjin and pursued Kiku with indescribable madness and desire, every inch of him burning with a raging lust.

Kiku's heart seemed to beat faster than a hummingbird's wings, such heights that should have been perilous. Dark Kiku was unaware of anyone but them, a choking and blubbering escaping through his lips, pleading and outreaching to Kiku, who was frozen in fear.

"Kiku-di!" Yao's voice screamed urgently, his cloak being shorn aside and a broadsword unsheathed in his hands. He, too, was tearing up; a furious and livid look on his face through the tears. His sword was trembling, but he seemed utterly intent on ramming his sword through Dark Kiku.

Ivan stopped him. The gigantic Russian growled, a rage filling every crevice of his countenance. He seized Yao who thrashed and kicked wildly. North Korea lunged at the Russian, who had been inspired by Dark Kiku to seize Yao, and was immediately kicked aside by a flashing boot. North Korea reeled to the ground, Im Yong Soo sprinting to his brother's side, the Korean glaring at the distant Russia and wiping away blood from his bleeding lips. Yao continued to flail and beat against Russia.

"I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS!" bellowed Ivan, who harshly slapped Yao across the face. Yao stopped, silent and smarting.

"I've had enough of you!" Yao cried, tears streaming heavily down his face, eyes blurring and burning. "I hate you so much!" A vein seemed to pop in Russia's head, and he seized Yao's hand again with a force that could've broken it. Yao screamed out in pain, sweat marring his brow and pain searing throughout his body, physical and mental. Ivan began shouting at Yao in Russian, a tone of cruelty echoing through his voice. China retorted back strongly in Chinese, both having a bilingual shout-out in languages they both understood.

Dark Kiku resumed his treatment of Kiku, kissing his neck and lips, Kiku's eyes helplessly riveted to a wildly gesticulating Yao, switching to The Koreas who were speaking desperately in hushed tones. Kuroi Kiku pulled a shard of glass from a pocket, fingers peeking out from his shredded glove. When Kiku's eyes widened in fearful question at Dark Kiku's motion; the darker half did nothing, starring at the pale and scarred chest before him.

_I must prove my undying vow of love to you_, Dark Kiku whispered, the phantoms of madness beginning to recede, however faint they lingered in his soulless eyes. He held the shining shard of glass, face completely emotionless. He was brought away by the sudden risings in Yao and Ivan's vocal brawl, Ivan clawing his hand and snatching Yao around his throat, the Chinese gasping and choking for air, practically drowning in his tears. Kiku's eyes widened and he struggled fiercely against Dark Kiku, but the force binding him, despite being only one-handed, was relentlessly stronger and he had no choice. He winced sharply at the pain swathing through his back, consuming his voice into a silent abyss. His eyes sharpened closed, and then wrenching open to watch helplessly as Yao was beginning to be lifted off the ground, clawing at Ivan's hands desperately, choking out pleas and warnings to his family.

He had no time to react.

Dark Kiku thrust the glass shard through his skin and Kiku cried out loudly in pain, his screams rising into a terrible crescendo. Im Yong Soo and North Korea stared on in horror, both still recovering. China stopped struggling for only a moment to watch in unfathomable terror as the glass sliced through Kiku's already heavily marred skin, just beneath his collarbone. Dark Kiku's face twisted into a disgustingly fascinating leer, smile cracked as the glass Ivan had smashed earlier. Ivan watched, with a grotesque fascination, lowering his victim just the slightest.

Slowly, characters began to form in bloody succession. To the casual observer fluent in Japanese they would read "グレー" or "Grey" in hiragana. This was their ultimate union; black and white made grey; they would soon be more entwined than yin and yang, their bond transcending simple union.

The wounds spilled in waterfalls of crimson onto Kiku's clothes, the sting of the abrasions pushing and lodging themselves in Kiku's consciousness, the spurting of his life away depleting him of energy. Why didn't he fight him? He felt the warrior within subdued and repressed by Dark Kiku's renewed and vigorous aura of darkness. Was this it? Would he be conquered forever and forced to live as this man's companion forever, away from the one he loved?

"Let Kiku-erge go," a gravelly voice threatened. The clean slice of a dagger slashed Dark Kiku's wrist with cruel deepness, the flashing view of Im Yong Soo and his shining dagger flitting away. His expression was cool and collected, completely unlike his usual goofy demeanor. His eyes were hardened and embittered, narrowed.

Kiku started at this, Dark Kiku yowling in pain. He glared a black death at South Korea who simply reciprocated his hateful stare. Dark Kiku wrenched his katana from its abashed sheath, swinging widely at South Korea who dropped deliberately to the ground, dodging the metallic gesture of rebuttal. They leapt away and began engaging in flashing metal combat, swift dagger versus hell bent swordsman slowed by a harrowed journey.

North Korea moved in the same fashion. His hwandudaedo, a single-sided blade with an elaborately ringed pommel, was lashed from its sheath and he rammed it into Russia's bicep, piercing deeply through and jutting out on the other side, taking Siberian blood with it. Russia promptly screamed bloody murder, his noise filling the air with an aura of horror. Not even a banshee could compete with his cries as he dropped Yao. Kiku didn't let weakness leave him out on the sidelines as he rushed to China's side, unsheathing his sword, it glinting off the midnight sun. He stood before Yao who was kneeled to the ground, coughing and gasping hoarsely for air, hands seized around his throat. Although he was bleeding profusely, Russia posed a dangerous threat to Yao.

Im Yong Soo was still embroiled in heavy combat with Dark Kiku. He jabbed his dagger forward only to have the longer metal appendage retaliate, South bringing his dagger before him to parry the blow. They danced in artful circles, blades glinting and ringing like light catching the many facets of a widely admired diamond. He jumped in the air to avoid a leg-centered blow, bearing the pommel upon Dark Kiku's head in collected reparation. He skittered to the ground, a royally ticked off opponent sending his katana high in a flying arc like the shape of a crescent moon. Im Yong Soo narrowly dodged it, skidding legs spreading afar so he could hunker to the ground. Dark Kiku was clumsy and off-balance; juxtapositioned to South's elegant and graceful combat style.

_Do you think I observe the rules of war, you little runt?_ Dark Kiku challenged, voice hoarse in the tone of a battle cry. He reached into the depths of his coat, pulling out a revolver which he immediately fired without caution. The blast of the bullet echoed loudly in the courtyard like a distant explosion, striking Im Yong Soo in the arm, a stream of blood spurting behind from the impact. Im Yong Soo was riveted to Dark Kiku's smoking revolver, eyes affixed to the swirling and rapidly fading smoke. He looked slowly down at his wound, a trembling hand lifted to embrace the blood, tears flooding his eyes, a cry of pain rising unnoticed in his throat. The cry was never released; he was still processing what had just transpired.

North cried a defiant battle cry, raising his sword and lowering it with a smelter's powerful arm upon Dark Kiku; another shot rang out in the silent night air, a gash torn through his lower leg beginning to spill out blood in tremendous quantities. His wails of pain began mixing with Im Yong Soo's, sending Kiku into a numb despair.

Kiku turned and whirled about to Dark Kiku, eyes livid and drowning in tears. Silent accusations formed on his lips to numb to speak. He wanted to scream; to do anything to prevail! Nothing happened…and yet…

He charged, running in a blind rage to his Darker half, the Imperialist widening his eyes in shock. He immediately threw aside the pistol, unable to wound his beloved, instead opting for something else.

Kiku raised his sword, judgment clouded by fury. He was beginning to swing it down again when he felt Dark Kiku's fiercely bony fist sink into his lower abdomen, he shocked into submission. He fell into unconsciousness into Dark Kiku's arms, who held him gently.

The Koreas were unconscious now as well, pain beating them into sleeping submission. Russia locked eyes with Dark Kiku for a moment, then to Yao. The Chinese nation was uncontrollably sobbing, his eyes suddenly rolling back into his head and to a comatose sleep. Russia stood up, suppressing pain with centuries of practice, flinging China over his shoulder, good arm steadying the small and petite Asian.

_Leave, with your beloved, for the next time we meet I shall punish you for trying to hurt mine so many years ago_, Dark Kiku said almost inaudibly, tone imparting meaning a soft voice could not. Russia nodded once, stood up, and left through the gates, not turning to look back.

After much fighting and trekking endlessly, he'd done it. And now, The Koreas and his wife were his forever.

The Empire of Japan was ready to set into action the most ambitious plan for his empire very soon; and no one would deter him from that path. Looking to the sky, cradling his wife, he wondered if China would be ready to say good-bye to his brother forever.

* * *

_... Boreas ..._

_... Zephryus ..._

_... if all you told was turned to gold,_

_if all you dreamed were new,_

_imagine sky high above_

_in Caribbean blue ..._

_... Eurus ..._

_Afer Ventus ..._

_... Boreas_

_Zephryus ..._

_... Africus ..._

* * *

Last thoughts: Here's another chapter, as promised! I hoped you like it! If the action seems a bit stretched out, it's because it really only spans over the length of several minutes; not very long at all.

The next chapter will explain what happened afterwards and breeze through WWI, since it really didn't concern the Asian countries much at all. And then we'll move on to the longest arc of all, which will begin with the Japanese occupation of Manchuria and much of China in general, such as the rising of the Communist and Nationalist conflicts. After WW2 will be China's becoming a Communist nation and the Cold War…so on and so forth. This should be finished by the end of summer, like I said, and to so may require me to put some of my other stories on sporadic hiatuses. Bear with me, okay?

Another thing: the Koreas at this point aren't officially split. That's why they're referred to as Chaoxian-di (North) and Chaoxian-erdi (South). That doesn't happen until after WWII. Speaking of which, I'm probably going to be studying my butt off about World War II. I know enough about what Japan did during 1940-45, especially 1944-45, but I thought it might help if I read Iris Chang's Rape of Nanjing. I just want to warn you ahead of time that it may get fairly grotesque...so I'm not sure how long it will take me to flesh out the whole of the events, so I will definitely warn you ahead of time. I read fairly deeply into it (Max Hastings' Retribution) and should have ample example of what truly might have gone underway during the Massacure. I will warn you at the end of the chapter right before things get really explicit. I will also post warnings on my profile and rate the chapters and provide a brief summary of what you will encounter, so please check it before venturing through that particular arc. I will be sure to warn you at the end of each chapter during the arc. Once the particular arc is over, it'll probably loosen up a bit. However, it being WWII and a brutal time, each chapter will contain warnings. Once that arc is over I will create a brief summary that will eliminate the gory details. For those who decide to heed my warning and skip any chapters that make you uncomfortable, check my profile often and read the summary if you wish. Please don't force yourself to read those chapters if they unsettle you in any way.

The lyrics are from Enya's "Caribbean Blue."

Thanks to all of you reviewers! I luv yoo all~

As always, review, review, review!


	22. It's HIStory, Not Mine, 你混蛋

_Deep inside my heart, at the very bottom  
The groundwater of my emotion runs through  
Inside this cold and clear water  
Dwells a fish without eyes_

_Ahh, not seeing anything  
Cannot see anything  
A fish translucent in pure white  
Piece by piece made of bone_

_

* * *

_

_Kiku. _Aren't I dead to you now?

_Please, answer me. I love you so much…. _But I hate you.

_That's no excuse. I __**am **__you. Please, no more silence. _I will never forgive you.

Kiku awoke in his bedroom, moonlight streaming through silken shades billowing in the breeze like a restless wanderer. Moonlight shone through their thin and wispy threads, tracing around Kiku's thin and winnow-like features. Disturbed animals stirred loudly; a bird cawing its midnight serenade, almost an effort to lull him to sleep. But, it was no use.

Eight years had passed since he and his brothers' dramatic escape back in 1908, according to the accursed western calendar. His hate was especially strong towards Dark Kiku, who had slowly been consumed by the cogs and gears of political and industrial sciences. After all, he breathed coal and reeked of gunpowder, a scent it seemed only Kiku could pick up on. The country was embroiled in the Great War, Japan having been involved since the year previous. It was the blurring winter of 1915, and the Imperialism of Japan was growing stronger by the day.

Footsteps tapped lightly on the thick and lush carpets, their footfalls of one petite. Japan pulled the covers over him more tightly, wishing to escape from the presence that had chosen to defile his sleep. The person skirted around the high four-poster bed and sat heavily at Japan's side. He feigned sleep, forcing his eyes closed. A hand could be felt, bare and flinchingly cold, pulling back the covers over Japan's bare shoulders, the sleeve of the yukata having slipped off his shoulders. That hand drifted over his body, a thin finger tracing over his rounded shoulder and exposed cheek. His skin immediately chilled unpleasantly, but Japan was so accustomed to Dark Japan's presence that it no longer held horror for him. Already a decade had passed and yet the events of the Russo-Japanese War were hauntingly fresh in his mind.

_My dear, you must wake up now. I don't ask much of you and have favorable news for you, _the voice whispered in a nightly breeze. Japan could feel himself being lifted and shrouded in cold, dark sleeves. The lusty warmth was ever there, making his skin shrink away, and yet was unable to escape. Is hair draped dramatically over his face, his eyes fluttering open. He was greeted by a sweet-emotional, vile-tasting kiss on the lips, thankfully light. His eyes fluttered wider open, Dark Kiku's face coming into focus, a shadowed sweetness etched into his countenance. He tried to sit up, but Dark Kiku restrained him.

Kiku finally managed to break away, propping himself on his hands, ignoring his bare shoulders and Dark Kiku's monochrome magnetic gaze.

"What is it?" he demanded in a harsh whisper, eyes glinting in the straits of moonlight. Dark Kiku seemed allured by this, beside himself in improper thoughts, face breaking into an unbecoming smirk.

_I just wanted to say that your precious China may be able to be saved yet. _He gazed sidelong out the window, focusing on the expansive winter-scape before them, appreciating the moon and its sliver of light like a setting sun casting its light like a lengthening shadow on the wine dark sea.

To this Japan's eyes widened, then narrowed. If this was some plan hatched by Imperialism the results would have to be disastrous.

"What do you plan to do to him?" Kiku demanded flatly, voice laced with hostility. His eyes narrowed and so did his attentions. Yao was the person most important to him now and any news concerning him was something Kiku wanted to know first and foremost.

_It's inevitable that the other Imperial powers will want a broader share in China. Islands, ports, towns, trading privileges—America's damn "Open door Policy"—among other things. You've shown to me how much you still cherish your brother, _he practically hissed the word, _and want to see him out of harm's way. _He shivered with disgust, unwilling to fathom the true depths of Japan's feelings towards his brother.

Dark Kiku smiled slightly and reached out to curl a tendril of hair behind his beloved's ear, Japan moving away slightly at this gesture. Dark Kiku turned away and frowned, but then turned back to resume speaking.

_I've come to understand you wish and why you've tried to escape from here in the past. You're concerned about him. You wanted to fight with him so he could maintain his independence. That will be especially held true now that he is a Republic and extremely unstabilized, what with internal strife and warlord struggle. We're at war with Germany and taking from that potato bastard ever meter of land in China he owns. Don't you see, my love? I'm taking China for you. He'll be a part of my empire…and so will the rest of your family. _Kuroi Nippon stood up, mad tendencies beginning to spread across his face in a cracked smile and predatory eyes.

Kiku's eyes widened at this, backing away a little. It had been evident the borders of Dark Kiku's madness long ago, but now he was borderline into delving deeper than ever before.

He began laughing softly, his sanity escaping in breaths. He launched himself on the bed and topped Kiku on all fours, Kiku yelping loudly in surprise. Dark Kiku began giggling at some devious little thought circulating through his head. He bent down to kiss Kiku's neck, fondling his hair in excited grips, pulling away after a few minutes. He gently pulled away the sides of his yukata, admiring the scarred characters on Kiku's chest in hardened Hiragana.

_We'll all be a family. Isn't that lovely, Kiku-kun? Isn't that exciting? We'll be powerful and our people will be so happy! We'll all live in a harmonious kingdom of peace and love! I love you, Kiku, and I'm doing this all just for you! _came Dark Kiku's fevered proclamations, pupils swallowed by milky whites. He kept giggling through his teeth, drowning in dreamy ecstasy.

Kiku frowned, teeth gritting, getting more pissed off by the minute. Dark Kiku's spiel was of a sick and twisted fantasy world that would never come. The Chinese hated Japan, wanted the seas from which it came to swallow it whole again. It was hell on earth, and Kiku knew it. The Koreans, the Chinese, and so many others who came in contact with the Empire of Japan were writhing in pain and hate for what Dark Kiku had done to them.

"What illusions your mind loves to weave," Kiku said quietly as Dark Kiku bent down to kiss his neck. Dark Kiku had heard this and one eye flicked to Kiku's face, but he continued.

He pulled away for a moment. _Dreams are things to make into reality. By my own power this empire will see them through to fruitation._

Kiku laughed darkly. "The only benefit everyone else wants to see is more land, bigger industry, and unquenchable power. Do you intend to blanket the whole of Asia in your darkness?"

Dark Kiku stopped, sitting astride Kiku, folding his arms. _It's not darkness. It's just a light that no one can see. _He threw back his head as if to gaze into a night sky that wasn't there.

"A light that no one can see," Kiku repeated as Dark Kiku removed himself from Kiku, "is that what you call it? Is cruelty is kindness? Darkness is light? To conquer people is to save them? What a twisted mind you have." His voice cracked, ready to burst into screaming.

A fist landed on the cheek of Dark Kiku's face, sending him flying into a wardrobe in one of the corners. The splintering of wood and flesh shattered resoundingly into the night, making calm flinch and silence balk sharply. Kiku was in a kneeling position, arm still extended from punching Dark Kiku. His eyes were smoldering in anger and his jaw set tightly, body tensed.

Dark Kiku gathered himself, groaning loudly from pain. He stood up, cricking his neck with sickening loudness, hand supporting it. He sighed again, touching his jaw where he'd been hit. His eyes glanced over to Kiku, who had by now lowered his arm, and sighed again.

_I seemed to have lost my touch. You used to cower in my presence and now you're not only openly rebellious but you raise a hand in defiance to my ideals. _A laugh. He walked over to Kiku, standing at the foot of the bed. _You've softened me, it seems. My love for you has made me weak, and yet how lovely it is. I will still hold my promise, my wife. I will obtain the world for you and give it to you as a pearl._

Dark Kiku lifted himself on to the bed and stretched far to tenderly kiss Kiku, the red welt on his face becoming slightly more evident in the becoming moonlight. Kiku tried to recoil away, but was held in place by Dark Kiku's hands at the back of his head. It was as nectarous as poison and as feeling as steel. When they broke apart Dark Kiku disappeared in the shadows, not even leaving footfalls or his scent of vaporous poison in his wake.

* * *

"Please reconsider~aru!" China cried to the Japanese prime minister seated across from himself and Prime Minister Yuan. Both men were aged by the increasing tumult of politics, especially Yuan who had the cumbersome task of unifying China ahead of him. The regional warlords were difficult to negotiate with and they were reluctant to relinquish their unparallel quest for power. Civil War seemed imminent and here now was the Japanese prime minister and his cohorts sitting behind with arrow-straight conduct.

How could they push this upon him now? He was in enough turmoil as it was! Dark Kiku's smug and bastardized face flashed before his eyes, clutching Kiku like a mere possession. This had been his doing. Prime Minister Yuan had given in and even assisted slightly in drafting the accursed piece of parchment before him, the damn thing that would make all of China a protectorate if it became ratified. Wasn't he already split and divided enough as it was?

Yuan glanced sharply at Yao, giving him a disapproving look for his outburst. He turned his attentions again to the prime minister, Shigenobu's seemingly dulled eyes boring into Yao's with surprising sharpness, his deep frown and shining bald head belying the diplomatic thirst for power within.

"These terms will make your land protected from any other powers that would choose to interfere," Shigenobu said evenly, eyes starring blankly ahead. "Your country owes us much, Yuan-sama."

He must have been referencing Hanyeping mines that were already deeply indebted to Imperial Japan, Yao thought grimly. He eased himself back into the chair, struggling to contain his anger.

"You will also be recognized as Emperor to us, Yuan-sama," Shigenobu insinuated, coyly smirking for a moment. Yuan nodded, eyes hooded in thought. The call to power was simply too irresistible.

"I understand that~aru," Yuan said tentatively, balking at the thought of anyone discovering his involvement. Appeasing Japan was the only way to prevent their country from being besieged by the power Imperial Empire.

Their Japanese wasn't flawless, but it seemed Japan's officials were too superior to China's that knowledge of Chinese wasn't necessary, much like America's expectancy for everyone to understand English.

China gritted his teeth under the shadow of his bowed face and clenched his hands into tight fists under the cover of the table. For thousands of years he never thought this would happen. This is why he hated foreigners and their alien ways. Just look at what was happening now! His pride was crushed, his regality squelched, and his rights squandered like tropical birds locked in a cage of barbed wire. The country who was once his child was now his keeper. Or more specifically, one half of his former child was now his warden.

He could hear their cries protesting injustice. They echoed and resounded throughout his mind, ricocheting through his already guilty conscience. He thought that by making his country a democracy the other powers would leave him alone. They hated Japan and its people. Everyday he was being scarred by their riots and internal civil wars. Peasants screamed for freedom, others were trying to devise methods of liberation. Yao thought that if he corrected that cultural backwardness of his people they could make themselves stronger. Besides Kiku, he loved his people above all else; they defined him. Their thoughts shaped his morals and ideologies. What they hated, he did. What they loved, he adored. He had traded traditional, familiar clothing for pressed suits and colloquial language of the modern age. Western buildings were springing up in cities such as Shanghai, mostly Shanghai. He tried his hand at diplomacy, desperately searching even the most harrowing roads for a leeway to peace. What he endured for he hoped his people prospered from.

Ever since the beginning of the Great War, Japan had been here, on the islands and coastlines of anything belonging to Germany and eradicating their presence. Yao had seen Kiku a few times and they had tried to meet, all in futile. Ivan's haunting presence had hailed all the way from Moscow to claim him and "protect" him.

Ivan.

Yao could feel himself trembling from what had happened that night…how Ivan had tried forcing himself on him. Yao had fought and screamed, but that didn't deter Ivan at all the least until China had resorted to violence to steer him away from his perverse objective. It had been a year ago, when seven years of stiff distance had caused Ivan to break. The events were too traumatizing to recount so Yao left them to rot in some unnoticed corner of his mind.

Nowadays they were more distant. Ever since the four months from eight years ago, Yao had come to hate Ivan. Russia had tried to kill him! When they had returned to Russia, they went through a terrific row, several more explosive arguments occurring thereafter. Yao had fled back to his country after a miserable year with Ivan. The kisses ceased and affection iced over. Yao did this as punishment to Ivan for seducing him all of those years ago…and for everything he'd done or tried to do to Kiku.

Once the Great War had started Yao was never in more relief. However, Germany's claims to him had resulted in Japan's interference. Japan…he ached so much for him. He hated war with such loathing and yet felt that many more were to be fought. He felt his heart burning with such desire to run from responsibility and turmoil. But where would he go? He was wanted by many, his country holding for them vast and unprecedented treasures.

Kiku…

He knew. Kiku loved him. But their love was impossible and forbidden. Yao was property; Kiku was seen as a ruthless Imperial power. Kiku was his enemy. How could they ever be together like this?

"Yao-san," came the sharp and intruding voice of Shigenobu, "please try to understand our motives. They are much nobler than you think."

He was boiling. His heart leaped and screamed battle cries fused with endless and angry tears.

"DON'T. YOU. SAY. THAT~ARU!" he growled in guttural, broken Japanese. "Everything you say is supposed to be noble! What of the multitudes of people YOUR armies slaughtered? What of the freedoms you deprived us of? Our miseries start and end with you Imperialist bastards~aru!"

Yuan was shocked; Shigenobu narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin in survey. The room was shocked into silence, the Japanese cohorts moving to impetus. Something was going to go down.

Before they could act, Yao lunged himself from his chair and sprinted across the vast table, aiming his balled hand to Shigenobu's face. He missed, Shigenobu grabbing his wrist and squeezing with pressures that should have been impossible for the ailing man. Yao yelped in pain, but mustered the strength to send another blow which glanced by a dodged stomach.

"Men! Restrain him!" Shigenobu cried hoarsely, throwing back his hand to the Japanese guards rushing in. He threw Yao to the ground and the guards crowded around him, punching and kicking the flailing nation. Yao's defiant cries and curses clamored with the guards' vulgar words obscene profanities.

After a few minutes of spirited struggle, Yao was kicked to silence, bruises, cuts, and rashes of scuffed black from their boots grazed across his face and skin. His hair was unbound and disheveled, earning feminine profanities the guards who remarked on his appearance. They held him beneath limp arms. Yuan flew from his seat only to be blockaded by even more guards. How many were there?

"Please, don't hurt him any more than you have!" Yuan protested, his voice rising to undiplomatic heights. He raised a hand as if reaching out to Yao only to be shoved aside. He watched, helpless and full of hate, as they dragged him away. It would most likely be a prison.

"Take this as a warning!" Shigenobu spat, more elated and energetic from anger. He removed his gloves and hurled them to the ground in dramatic disgust. Storming from the room, Yuan could only watch the other prime minister in the stifling silence.

"We have no choice now, is that it?" Yuan asked the air, reverting back into Chinese. He was alone, with no one to stand with him. His prayers went out to Yao, begging any unseen deities to protect his nation's beloved representative.

Yuan left, filling the room with unease and an inviolable emptiness. What was to become of China and his person?

* * *

_One day at the shore...  
I plucked a red flower...  
At the shore of groundwater where no light can reach...  
A wilting red flower_

_Ahh, I can't see anything  
I cannot see anything  
The flower bloomed in pure red  
Piece by piece made of pollen_

_

* * *

_

Last thoughts: …Not very eventful, ne? Unfortunately, this may be the last chapter I can post until I return from my trip to a place where I probably won't have internet…and I computer for that matter.

History: It's 1915 and the Great War (WWI) is one year in. Since this fic is Asian-centric, the only WWI action going on is Japan's involvement is pushing the German forces from China and the Pacific. The Imperial Navy patrolled Chinese waters. They destroyed any and all German watercraft, ousted them from German-held Chinese territory, seized German island territories, conducted air raids from sea (the first in history, it seems) in German-held provinces. They formally declared war against Germany in August of 1914 on the 23rd. And almost thirty years later they would alliance themselves with the Germans. Irrroonnnyy. And what was it for? Land and control over China. Me thinks we'll be seeing some Dark Kiku/Yao action later on…so calm down all you yaoi fan girls. XD

Next chapter warning: violence, WWI inaccuracies and lots, and lots, of weapons 'n violent stuff, some sexual attempts, and historical over load. Are you ready (to rock?)? *is shot*


	23. Drink from the Bone of Never Dry, 你殺人犯

_How much more should I shout?  
How much more should I cry?  
Stop it already, I can't run anymore  
The world I once dreamed of closes up_

_The ordinary days are twisted; a forbidden love  
A heart so fake-  
The imperfect love is painted over in black  
In a pitch-black world_

_

* * *

_

This is the cruel reality of war.

An oddly crafted pistol is pulled from its holster with one hand, the hammer pulled back resoundingly in the mires of fog and smoke, clouding the wielder's mind. The man was of German origin, dusty brown skin streaked with the shining wakes of sweat, pale skin practically glowing through. He wore a simple infantryman uniform, ornate metal clasps missing in some places. His darkened trousers were sullied by many months of dogged warfare against the Japanese, boots scuffed beyond recognition and tearing. The spiked helmet was plastered to his head, the head of dusty trails and salty rivers. His china-blue eyes were flicking between the small band of Japanese infantrymen who stood before him, calm and confident.

Kiku stood out before them with cool leadership, hand poised on the hilt of his sword. The loose soil, scorched and smoking, crunched indignantly as he took a step forward, eyes impenetrable and maddeningly enigmatic. The decorated tassels of the scabbard were tugged by the searingly hot breezes, Kiku's face hidden beneath the shadows of over-passing clouds, gray in melancholy.

"Aufenthalt zurück!" the man shouted shakily, gripping hands beginning to tremble in his waning courage. _Stay back. _Kiku sighed slightly, disheartened by the fact he didn't need to understand the tongue of Germany very well to understand this man's faltering plea.

"Put down the gun. You could merely be taken prisoner if you surrender," one of Kiku's men said in German, his accent burning obviously through, lies oozing from very vulnerable crevice in his voice. The German furrowed his brows deeply at this, not releasing his grip upon the gun he held with meaningless heart.

"Ich werde Ihnen nie Kapitulation!" the man cried defiantly, pivoting the gun side-to-side in desperate frenzy, distraught at his loneliness in battle. _I will never surrender to you, _the German-understanding man loosely translated. Kiku frowned at this, feeling a twinge of anger boil somewhere in the dormant hearth of his heart. He was feeling rather vexed by the fact that earlier that day he'd discovered a whole hoard of German troops raping women in the sacred city of Qifu, Confucius' alleged birthplace. In this fairly small sector by the only train station within a few miles, they had plundered and raped the townspeople while fleeing away from the Japanese advance. They were cowards in the eyes of the cult of Bushido; their fate could only be death, but even death wouldn't save them in their cowardice. Kiku admittedly was still affected by the pungent scent of tradition that still captured him even the face of modern times. Bushido was still something he couldn't let go.

He bent his knees slightly, poising himself for the adroitness of close-quartered combat he hoped would ensue. For the last month or more, he and the Imperial armed forces had been awash over the land of China, reclaiming for their Allies the German-held lands within China, lands Dark Kiku had explicitly ordered to be seized. Why else would he risk the lives of kinsmen in a seemingly fruitless war? Dark Kiku would have all of China, and the only thing Kiku could do was keep him as far away from his guardian as possible. Quite a gorge had separated them as of late.

As of the ninth of September, Japanese forces had arrived in China to seize any and all colonies propetiered by Germans. The beer-stained curse was softly receding from the jade treasure he wanted so desperately to protect. Yao... The gorge was only getting wider...

The brief loosing of reality had thwarted him. The German man, faster than flights of fancy, had alluded them. Before any of them could properly react, the German shot the leg of one of his soldiers, and in the frenzy of trying to help the injured, he'd gotten away, weaving between Earthenware homes and wily alleys.

"Men, remain here! I'll apprehend him!" Kiku ordered quickly, unhesitatingly replacing the katana in its sheath with the pistol from its holster.

Taking off at breakneck speed, boots churning up dirt like a charger on scalding battlefields, nostrils flaring from heated exertion. His eyes darted between shelled dwellings and the empty husks that remained, nose filling with blood and the stagnant odor of burning flesh, repugnant foulness nearly blinding him in wet salt. Alleys and narrow streets scattered with bodies swallowing an earthy death made him jump and flip in alarmed aversion, each obstacle bringing with it more omens of treachery.

He deftly shot through clattering clay tiles as they slid down the roof of a home ready to cave in from the crackling heat of an artificial furnace, making them burst into a cloud of dust. This little rat and his shenanigans was really starting to royally irritate him. There wasn't enough time to complain and squander valuable time, however. This man needed to be stopped; if he made way to safe harbor with another battalion of Germans they'd be in for it.

The nervous breaths and ceaseless stomping of the larger European easily let Kiku to know his whereabouts. He gripped the pistol tighter, gritting his teeth in determination. He broke into a run again.

After a seemingly endless chase of bounding over obstacle after obstacle, and other hazardous impediments, Kiku found the man. He whispered something in offhanded German, escaping much notice and understanding. Kiku saw him messing around with the parts of a gun, strapping in more bullets to the rifle magazine. At the first sign of Kiku's presence he started badly, but then straightened, garnering more confidence after acquiring a rifle more worthy of his exaggerated prowess. Again, in the language spoken in masculine words, the German said something in a low and dangerous voice, although the meaning escaped Kiku. However, he felt no need to learn their language in needed fluency. This confidence could only be the assurance of Kiku's death. Allegedly.

The man had no moment to spare; no time to poise his finger on the trigger or a hand to steady the barrel of the gun. Kiku was behind him, wordlessly suspending the katana at his jugular and the pistol at the German's head, eyes steely and cold with indifference. The man froze, dropping his rifle and collapsing to his knees in utter humiliation and defeat. The gun and sword were trained to his every move.

"Die Pläne ... jetzt!" Kiku threatened, letting the blade brush coldly against the man's neck, reminding him of the consequences should he not comply. The pistol's growling muzzle was preparing to bite.

In reality, Kiku only knew slight German from the time when he'd gone to Germany to emulate their armies and take careful notes, invisible scribe and warrior that he was. It was only a little, but how useful it was now, especially how a he craved for Yao to be free from their clutches. Was he becoming so selfish? Like Dark Kiku? He wanted Yao...but the reason was far from just as a chunk of land. Loving Yao was driving him into insanity; the longing was such a simple remedy for reality.

The man shakily lifted a hand with a small slip of folded paper scrawled with what was indisputably the schemes that could easily hinder the Japanese effort of eradicating foreign threats (Aren't I foreign, as well?). Kiku, unwilling to surrender his modes of imminent torture, lowered his head and received the paper with his teeth. His eyes flashed with brilliant achievement, and he brought the blade closer to the man's neck, deliciously teasing him with a trail of blood that stained his choking collar like oil permeating through water.

"Japan sinkt ... ... auf den Grund des Meeres!" the man cried, straining his neck against the tease of the sword.

Kiku frowned deeply at this, then brought his lips into a cruel smile, face emulating the one he so hated. He let escape a childish giggle, eyes glinting with abounding hatred for this man. Why would he want to die in such a way? How silly.

There wasn't time for morals or half-hearted theological debate on the importance of life.

"You want feel a thing~" Kiku giggled as he held the pistol and pulled the trigger tightly. The resounding blast ricocheted throughout the silence, a wormhole plunging through the German's head and spewing blood on the other side, lovely grains of hair becoming dyed in palettes of his favorite color.

"Ah, this won't do, you're staining your nice uniform," Kiku tsk-ed with disturbing energy, acting like a proud young adult on Coming of Age Day. He placed the pistol back in its holster and studied his katana, eying the dead man with devious intent. He raised it and brought it heavily upon the man's neck, cleanly slicing through the curiously hard windpipe; he hacked through the flesh and hit the spinal cord, and with a butcher's hand, severed through the brain stem and skin, grinding the sword into the ground. Blood had sprayed with each hack and splattered like red paint flung across his face.

The man was reduced to a bloody, twitching mass of limbs and pooling blood of a soiling purple into the ground. With morbid fascination he studied the organs that lay hidden beneath the skin, unsettling in his post-humus interest in the dead.

He removed the slip of unsoiled paper from his mouth, flecked with absorbing red, and unfolded it to examine it with calmed interest, memorizing its contents. He smirked in satisfaction, with an empty mind he swiped the sword along the ground to clean it of any retreating blood that dribbled down the mirror-smooth blade.

_And so, the weight of his first sin blended into his consciousness, craving for the day it would drive him deeper into insanity..._

_

* * *

_

"I love you, _Jao,_" Ivan chortled like a straining songbird, Russian accent beaming through. The words weren't forced, charged with honest feeling, yet were impossible to penetrate into China. Lately, Russia's feelings seemed only to melt on Yao's skin like the snow that made him flush in the cold. The events of _that_ year had morphed him into someone stronger than he liked. Yao had changed for the worse, heart enamored with the one he'd loved for much too long.

To this, Yao didn't respond. He simply set his jaw in a grim line, eyes narrowed and contemplating as he looked beyond into the screaming, harsh winter winds of the Siberian winter.

"Answer me, Jao," Russia commanded, tilting Yao's chin painfully upwards; Yao's eyes remained stubbornly fixated away from his. China's hand slapped his brutally away, a chillier demeanor settling on his pallid shoulders beneath the normal army uniform he preferred wearing as of late.

"You know my answer, you bastard," Yao hissed in return, eyes blazing with a passion burning away the ice between them. "I would like nothing more than to be released from your insipid lands. I want to return _home _to my _family_." Those eyes like smoldering coals were of an ashen hue to Ivan's cold amethyst ones.

Ivan was becoming truly, honestly, infuriated. Yao's blood boiled just by the sight of his captor when he longed with such fervor that it could only be a sin. China's mind was steeled with his resolve to escape.

"You never rejected to me! You accepted me! Who is truly to blame for wrongful seduction? You led me astray, and lied to yourself! However, your love for the enemy is something I can't condone! He is your demise...your true traitor to the heart! He can only be your death and destruction!" Ivan cried, a voice like a rising, grating metallic scream. His breaths were heated and beginning to loose a normal pattern.

Yao stood abruptly from the chair he had been occupying, running his fingers over the scars from when Ivan had been so close to nearly killing him, his neck still remembering the feelings of those hands and fingers, merciless and homicidal. On that day his breaths had been ragged and near death, when his skin screamed in pain and burning; how impossible the level of hate within him had been. Tears sprang to his eyes at the memory that seared through his mind like the souls of forests succumbing to death and the sawing teeth in their maw of doom.

Ripped asunder...that's what had happened to him when Kiku had betrayed him. And yet he knew the truth. Or did he? Dark Kiku seemed to be the scapegoat ad yet...something about Kiku had become rather obsessive. He was becoming shaken by modernization's steely scales and flaming maw; he trembled as the light glinted of its armor and blinded him so dazzlingly. The new world was so determined to make him conform.

"Maybe you are right. Maybe we're destined to burn in the fires of a furnace; to be flayed by the whips of the world's tongue. I'm seen as land bountiful and so easy to claim and he is the one who shall come to oppress me more and each and every day. That is what I am, is it not? I'm just a huge chunk of land conveniently placed, so beautiful and destined to succumb to a metallic touch," Yao smiled, the expression mirthless. He stood up, walking forward to Ivan.

"If you understand this, why do your feelings persist?" was Ivan's remonstrance. Those eyes steeled and hardened like the empty shell of an insect's shed skeleton. Violet crystallized into shining, glossy wisteria.

"Because the one I hate isn't truly him. There's a side to him, that physical side of manifested anger and hate, split to be soaked up and become a poison. That's what Dark Kiku is. He stole Kiku's anger, his hate. All his has left is instinct and fear. Any anger or strong feelings come from emotions buried away; the bestial desires of our beginnings that rise when he is most vulnerable. I've seen him I such a way," Yao construed, lips rising into a simper, remembering that war.

"What are you saying? That Japan has been split in two?" came his preempt, to which Yao could only look blindly away. Ivan's brows furrowed, his lips frowned slightly, face in disbelief and subtle caring. He knew what that flight for survival was like.

"Japan has been so cruel lately. Hei Riben seems so intent to kill my strength and drain me of power. This hate that rises within me, stemming fro my people, is undeniably strong. Sometimes I imagine myself killing Kiku, stabbing him gently and harshly whispering my vows of redemption. Other times I kill him in horrific ways." Yao paused to wipe away beads of shining tears from the corner of his eyes, glistening on the tips of his fingers before casting them to the floor. "I'm no better than you or anyone else. I'll kill to defend my children, just as you would to defend yours. We all once existed to conquer; it was as natural as breathing or defending. And now we're in an era where chivalry can't bear to see these feelings; we shun it. That's why Japan is so hated. They are resurrecting feelings we've all sought to bury."

Ivan grimaced, tsk-ing deep in his throat like a cast off loogie. He strode to meet the fearless nation, eyes raging with a tide engorged with tsunamis and water spouts. He slammed a hand into the wall, the sound banging with a shotgun's voice. "Are you trying to justify his murderous actions?"

"No. If you were a soldier, you might understand. If you've fought for as long as I have, you might comprehend it. Even I don't know the full extent of his wishes."

"Then don't. You're mine and there's nothing more to it." Ivan's voice was soft, but his lips were so hard and cruel against Yao's.

* * *

Kiku infiltrated the abandoned headquarters, searching among a derelict heaven of upturned desks and sordid bunks. Papers were strewn carelessly on the beaten loam, illegible German writing piercing among the dirt-trodden white. A well-worn wooden folding chair was beaten to pieces in one of the corners of the clay born, converted home. A gas lamp hung carelessly in the center of the the room, swaying to and fro with haunting rhythm. Several maps of strategic importance dangled fro the walls, torn asunder from what had been a volley of bullets and burning cinders long before. Their dull colors contrasted with the richness of the colors of the holes that had burned through them, places completely shorn away.

Kiku swooped low to the ground, gathering and analyzing papers with blazing speed, absorbing as much information as possible. His German wasn't great, but someone as old as he needed all kinds of knowledge. He skimmed past words at desperate paces, brought to sharp attention whenever certain phrases came to his attention. His gaze settled on one in particular that hinted at a small troupe of Germans who would travel by train to Shanghai in order to report vital information to their superiors about impending Japanese movements. Although the Imperials were largely successful at driving out the Germans, their intelligence on the Japanese could be sold to the highest bidder and prove fatal. Intelligence had been garnered from both sides and the Germans had learned things they shouldn't have.

The date of departure was set for that day at a station Kiku knew was intact and relatively close by to Qifu, Confucius' legendary home. This information would prove vital to their mission. He stuffed the paper down the loosely buttoned coat, into his sweaty undershirt. He also took the chance to prep his gun, reloading the magazine with fresh and gleaming bullets. All he needed now was a mode of transportation to reach the station in time, in about two hours.

The air suddenly became pervaded with the sickly, sweet smell of leaking petroleum. Kiku immediately became piqued by this and wandered towards it, fingerless gloves hoisting the rifle back around, strapped to his back, leading to easier mobility. He looked left ad right, only to be brought outside. A puddling trail of variegated gasoline led him from a skid-ridden dirt street to to the side of the large hovel.

When he came to the side, he rounded it to find a bulbous tarp covering something. Without restraint, he flung away the tarp to the side, causing a cloud of dust to become disturbed from its place and rise into the air. It revealed to be a motorcycle. Although he didn't know it at the time, it was a German Wanderer, a motorcycle with a bicycle inspired metal frame and small, from-scratch engine. It seemed rushed and of only of a serviceable quality, but it would have to suit him well. He pulled from his knapsack a large wireless radio and squeezed a button on the side, and spoke quietly into it. Excited crackling exploded from the other side, confirming similar finds of an abandoned car, probably an American Ford Model T. He was elicited to say forced praise, but was somewhat gladdened to carry out this plan at long last.

He saddled himself to the bike, throwing a leg over and settling himself on the alien pedals. He'd never actually ridden a motorcycle, rather, he'd only studied diagrams of them and memorized them well. He found the ignition, key conveniently placed within. He turned it and reveled in the sputtering choke of its revival, then the more mild putting of the vibrating engine and wheezes of smoke. He gripped the handlebars and twisted the handlebar, the back wheel spun in rapid, dirt spitting revolutions, until Kiku released the front brake and roared away. He weaved his way through many alleys and small dirt streets leveled by shelling from previous air raids, zooming past rows of houses adjacent to each other, the wind whizzing loudly in his ears.

Separating himself from the confines of the town, he maneuvered the bike off main roads and onto a country road, speeding past upturned wagons and reeking carcasses of beasts of burden and people alike. Japan couldn't help but be filled with pity as he whizzed past, feeling drained as unclosed eyes stared past, starring into an empty oblivion. Kiku gritted his teeth, almost drawing blood. Tears whipped past and flew into the wind as Kiku accelerated into a higher speed. He bowed his head for only a moment, a tear shed for each body past. Did soldiers have to be soulless?

Why were they even here? All they were doing was adding to the body count.

Finally he came into view of an open-air train platform, the train already starting to chug away with a wake of billowing smoke following behind. Even from afar, he could see blonde heads and tall silhouettes in the shaded windows. The train was picking up a slight amount of speed, usually topping at 50 miles per hour, according to America's measurement system.

He couldn't help but notice that near the train, a large hill began a slight incline, perfect for aerial attempts. Kiku silently thanked whatever god or goddess was responsible for this fortunate stroke of fate. He pulled back the trigger as far as it would go, making the bike top at 90 m/hr, just to catch up with the speeding train.

He jumped off road and sped up the thickly grassed hill, quickly becoming parallel to the train. Unfortunately, this would be a solitary mission, his "comrades" having no other choice than to wait for him at the next station on the train's itinerary, their progress hampered by angry mobs of peasant Chinese who knew well enough who they were.

He sped alongside the chugging train, plotting his plan of approach for only a split second. He slowed slightly and dipped down the hill, disappearing from view for lengthy moments. A few minutes later, the familiarly loud putting of the motorcycle swept into view. No one on the train had even taken notice; the hill was above the passengers' line of vision and the train's deafening chugging obliterated any noise made from the much smaller motorcycle.

At one particular point in his ascent, the hill sharply inclined high above the train. In this one calculated moment, this only chance, he had to stick it or risk death.

Time slowed to a crawl. The front wheel lost the ground; the rear came later, falling through and rising sharply into the air. The ground gave way in exchange for the sweet liberation of the smoke leaden sky. Kiku maneuvered his body and the bike with it, resisting gravity's inexorable pull, reversing places, the bike's vulnerable underside exposed like a dying fish's delicate and beautifully scaled body, Kiku's back arched and bending into a "C" shape. The revolution only lasted for what seemed to be a second, but it was enough time for Kiku to pull out a revolver quickly from its holster and fire two to three shots. When he was finished, the bike began to feel gravity, its reversed body beginning to descend; the fall was starting. He released the vice his legs had on it and released, the bike thrown to the side, an explosive sputtering echoing for a moment. Kiku landed adroitly on the train's top, rolling a few times because of inertia. He finally stopped, hearing the chaos from within for a second, like an eavesdropping child, high winds beating and furiously whipping his freed hair around.

It was only in the stream of at least half a minute, but already he could hear the sounds of delightful chaos. People within were stirring and women were anxiously pleading and whimpering like small dogs. Men began opening windows, armed with pistols, swiping their gazes left and right. Kiku army crawled to the nearest one and settled on top, eyes squinting in the wind tunnel of speed. He shot the man surveying from it. When the man slumped to the ground, to the shock of the other men and woman inside, Kiku swung himself through. People rose into a panic. Men of suited standard tried to shot Kiku but failed, the ninja-like nation springing to the tops of high-backed seats like a feline and avoiding their gun fire. Women were in a frenzy, sprinting here and there in thin, flat dresses and screaming bloody murder. Well, they were pretty much on the money.

Kiku removed the rifle and started to demand their surrender, shouting in German, Korean, Chinese—what ever of the many bits of languages he loosely knew. The women dropped to the floor in a trembling, praying mess while men merely dropped their weapons. Kiku trained the firearm at the quivering mass of women, smirking in brief coyness. Quiet reigned supreme.

However, it wasn't for long.

A man from far in the back charged forward, a dirk brandishing desperately and madly. He tried to stab Kiku, much to the shock of the other submissive men, but failed. In a flash of steel, Kiku had half of his katana rammed through the man's ribs, blade peeking through the end, blood streaming down it in rivulets to stain the man's suit, adding to the ever increasing size of the blood stain. The noise had been like cutting through a watery fruit with tough skin, blood spurting in the faces of those behind the ill-fated man.

He pulled the katana back, the blade shrinking from his body faster than than he'd been stabbed. The women who'd witnessed the spectacle began caterwauling, making Kiku's ears ache.

"YOU HEARTLESS BEAST! BURN IN HELL!" one of the women screamed, her eyes bloodshot and raging with hate, German clearly understood. She was cowering with her hands covering her head like the ceiling would heave a shower of metal upon her, as if such an action was protecting her.

"Are you angry that we killed so many of your kind, Asian?" one of the men simpered, language English, eyes soulless. His mouth was pulled into a condescending grin, hidden by an aging beard. "Yes, aren't we the ones responsible? I'm a general in the German army. My men may have killed many in the endeavor to escaping yours."

Kiku narrowed his eyes, understanding every scathing word. "You must atone, then."

The man had no time to dodge or pray as Kiku riddled him with bullets. He fell, that damned grin plastered to his face; his eyes retained that soulless, glassy sheen.

That evening, a chorus of blood-curdling screams of helpless women drowned out that of the chorus of mourning angels.

* * *

Everything was hot and warm. Only the pants were left, but he preferred them on. He wasn't ready to go full lust just yet.

"Do you remember when you kissed me on that day?" Ivan, rather lusty and passionate in the red hot of the fire in the darkness.

"Ngh," came Yao's reply as Ivan kissed his chest, breath constricting in his throat. Sweat beaded in pearly clusters in the moonlight like dew in the early morning. Ivan was similarly matted, hair stuck to his face and neck in curling waves like an incoming tide. His face was flushed, as was Yao's, in the heat of a one-sided flame.

Yao couldn't fight. For what seemed like hours and hours he'd fought Ivan, only to be destroyed and taken by the larger, crushing Russian. He was weak...ad yet something was building within.

"Do you remember when I went off in the cold winter to fight in that war for you all those many years ago? Do you remember how desperately you loved me?" Yao shivered away from him, pleading to the moon; a cool draft washed over them from the winter scape, enthralling Ivan.

"Please, stop," Yao whimpered, flinching away as Ivan nested his lips on his neck. Ivan could feel Yao's blood, course and thick with terror, rush past in thin veins.

"I wonder what it will look like when I kill your precious brother? Ah, I would like to see his blood spilled all over. How beautiful it would be!" came Ivan's guttural snicker. He seemed elated at the thought, eyes bulging to impressive sizes before his eyelids hooded them in rapture.

Yao disagreed strongly and began to struggle, refusing to melt in Ivan's heat. Ivan began growling in perversion, in an undignified way, becoming even more turned on. He loved resistance.

A knee slammed in Ivan's stomach; a fist smashed into his face. Ivan recoiled back, spitting blood aside and gagging. He caught a glimpse of the scar from North Korea's sword thrust years before, reminding him of that night. He glared heavily at Yao, hoping to crush his courage in amethyst tonnage. The silver plumage of his hair caught the moonlight, making it glare into Yao's eyes.

Ivan tried choking out humbling words, but was stifled because of the wind knocked from his lungs. How could such a small, beautiful man pack such an explosive punch?

"Drown in this war," Yao sneered, eyes packed with rage and flaring dynamite. That was the last Ivan saw before his world drowned in darkness.

* * *

Kiku glanced left and right, saddened and amazed at what had just happened. The women had committed suicide, throwing themselves at Kiku one by one, furious at their husbands' deaths and unwilling to continue; the war was too intense for life. Kiku acquiesced and aided them in their second party suicide, the life exiting their eyes so quickly. The men had confessed their crimes, and being holy men of Christianity, professed their sins and began a chain reaction; a meltdown. They took their lives with small hand held guns, one by one. The plague of war had claimed them mercilessly.

Surrounded by the remorseful dead and their equally deceased and loyal spouses, Kiku let his gun drop. Everyone was dead; the German men he had been searching for had died with them, too afraid by their failure to be the supreme vanguard of their colonies; failure weighed too heavily upon their conscience. They had killed innocent citizens in cold blood upon settling among the fiery hot passion of a long repressed people.

Their sins took them; atonement was impossible for their religion. Kiku stared at his murderous, bloodstained hands. He was an angel of death; one of the men had said he was a sign from God, divine punishment for their ill ways. Kiku accepted this fate; he would be a heartless killer from this moment on. It was impossible to avoid.

Their blood pooled excessively around him; the carpet lining the passenger cars was soaked in their blood, squishing in his slight movements. His hands began trembling, a scream building inside. The floodgates to his eyes burst open and set themselves free in terrific swells of overbearing emotion. A scream ripped from his throat, haunting the minds of all who listened forever.

* * *

_The setting moon overlaps with clouds  
Just as if it's hiding its light  
We can't return anymore?  
Let's disappear together like this _

_I'll smash common sense and morals  
And it's fine that I'm the only one who gets punished  
Holding onto the words  
That you said in your final moments_

_

* * *

_

Last thoughts: I'm really sorry for the wait for this chapter! I was practically a walking, brain dead zombie last week because it was...that time of month... . And the week before I was in vacation in Michigan with no computer I sight! T0T

History: (As copied from Wiki by a lazy author) "On August 7th 1914, the Japanese government received an official request from the British government for assistance in destroying the German raiders of the Kaiserliche Marine in and around Chinese waters. Japan sent Germany an ultimatum on August 14th 1914, which was unanswered, and then Japan formally declared war on the German Empire on August 23rd 1914.

Japanese forces quickly occupied German-leased territories in the Far East. On September 2nd 1914, Japanese forces landed on China's Shandong Province and surrounded the German settlement at Tsingtao (Kiautschou).

During October, acting virtually independently of the civil government, the Japanese navy seized several of Germany's island colonies in the Pacific, the Mariana, Caroline, and Marshall Islandswithout resistance.

The Japanese navy conducted the world's first naval-launched air raids against German-held land targets in Shandong province and ships in Qiaozhou Bay from the Japanese seaplane carrier Wakamiya.

The Siege of Tsingtao was concluded with the surrender of German colonial forces on November 7th 1914."

Also, I got new books for research! Imperial Japan: 1800-1945, basically a compilation of essays and excerpts from books concerning Imperial Japan, start to finish, edited by Jon Livingston, Joe Moore, and Felicia Oldfather. This book I got is 37 years old, smells of musty awesomeness, and is yellowing considerably. I'm reading it in certain sections and have learned a LOT so far. It's great.^^

American Shogun by Robert Harvey is fairly new and I haven't started to read it yet. It paints a background on "General MacArthur, Emperor Hirohito, and the drama of modern Japan." I can't wait to read it, though!

I may be slow in upcoming chapters, but I assure you it's for research purposes. I'm also (finally) reading The Rape of Nanking by Iris Chang, which I've been reading sporadically today...at book stores... .

Um, never chapter's warnings? I don't know yet, but I'll post it up on my profile before I publish it, okay?

The lyrics are from "Imitation Black" by natsu-P.

As always, review, review, review!


	24. Pierce the Heart of Never Know Why, 私の愛

_After meeting, how many wounds are needed just for support  
When you are harsh, other people learn things from it  
Reality in the eye of the burning, scar you full of silence  
Do not need a reason for you to return to me_

_From me, who is left for you who has become nothing  
What do you think is harsh?  
Still, you do not say anything  
These words are not meant for me  
Go somewhere_

_

* * *

_

The stagnant ends of night were slipping freely away, and dawn was eager to destroy the fading remnants of night. His fear, his feelings, his dignity were stripped away with the dawn. There were no wars between for the time being, but that would fade so quickly away. These dreams of his time in China during the Great War brought no fear or feeling, just subliminal messages to remind him of something so nothing. It was nothing. Truly and honestly nothing. The weight of those kills was feather-light, and besides, he's killed people before. It's nothing new. The only thing that has changed is the method, the scientifically cold method of killing, impersonal and indirect. He no longer needs to feel the fleshy convulsions as much, but it has become as familiar as heartbeats, so there's no need for change. There's something satisfying about slashing and hacking your enemy to a bloody and fleshy lump. He used to feel such deep remorse when he was younger, when he was first unified and taught to fight. But after so long he's become accustomed to it; he loves it.

_And here you are, ready to hack me apart as well? _a breathless voice taunted, still holding his strange breed of animus. Their blades were dancing in a forest of sparks, deciding to take their battles to the belly of a steel manufacturing factory, smelting for a war that he hoped never would come.

_What happened to your cute submissiveness? I miss that about you. _Kiku just narrowed his eyes, those cold and unfeeling eyes, at the person who had stolen his passion and emotions so long ago.

They were on the flying metallic catwalks above a concrete aisle of bellows and artificial passion, workers careful to avoid ones so intent to kill, so above them. Angles of steel support, flashing with orange reflections from the vats of molten steel below, that supported this factory, seemed so tempting to overtake and duel there. It was an extremely large factory, as all of them were, women and men working in sexist silence. Slits for windows allowed only for the light from an overcast sky, a hardened gray light, illuminating them where fiery refractions couldn't. Spurts of pissed steam spurted in their faces, crawling across the catwalk like an English fog of haunting. Unrefined like the steel being processed, Dark Kiku felt such at home here, breath mingling with the smoke and dying, eyes absorbing the life of death, becoming one with the thing for which he was born.

Kiku lurched forward with the rhythm of the exploding bubbles of the molten substances simmering below, bracing himself squarely, unsettled only the slightest, face not registering one human emotion. He was icy mercury where Dark Kiku was igneous steel ore. Dark Kiku raised in eyebrow in cocky inquisitiveness at Kiku, and received a deadpan reply.

_What's with the sudden change of dress? What, no more military uniform? _Kiku had begun to wear black coats like garbs of death, loose and flowing. They were something aviators had taken to wearing, only thinner with no hood. On the lapels was a thin trim of fur, hem reaching past his waist. It was long with ornamental buttons binding it. He looked like quite the ruffian, garbed in long, baggy black pants and combat boots. It was if he didn't know his place among his men; in the army or among the people. Dark Kiku thought it quite distasteful for his wife to be so defiant, but for the moment, he was too busy to care. Let Kiku keep up the farce for as long as he pleased. It went along quite well with his sexy and unemotional stagger he'd taken up. It seemed as if he were incapable of any emotion, quite unlike himself.

"And flatter you? I'm taking a new stance, one I know you hate. I'm tired," he brought the sword done upon the darker one's in a clashing swing, sending Dark Kiku skittering away in unbalance, "of supporting something so corrupt and fallible." Dark Kiku shook his head, bringing upon Kiku the sword of manifested cruelty, only to be blocked by the seemingly unemotional nation. Their faces were held at parallel, motions in limbo.

_How much you make me want to screw you each and every day! You can't keep denying me, my love! _Dark Kiku shouted gregariously in the temple of silence Kiku had erected around their battle. Japan's eyes glistened ever colder, slipping into inhumanity. Dark Kiku was beginning ever the more irked by Kiku's petulance of every his word, not even able to provoke the slightest twitch. It was as if his being had been sent into an unfeeling paralysis. Not even the most scandalous perversions made him fight back any more. He merely wished to fight or remain alone. It seemed North Korea was influencing him too much.

"Who can deny you if you have none?" he queried, voice even and like a plateau, no decibels rising above a perfect flatness. He lowered his sword unexpectedly, lunging it towards Kuroi Kiku's hip, slicing it evenly with calculated precision. He withdrew before Dark Kiku could open his mouth stupidly to question Kiku's intent.

_AaaaAaggGGhhhh! _Pathetic. Even his screams were uneven and crooked, just like his mind. Kiku sauntered over to him, gripping him cruelly by the lapel of his coat. He bashed the dark being against the rail and made him arc his spine backwards, hovering above him like an impersonal deity. Raising his sword, he let the length of steel kiss Dark Kiku's throat several times, escapes of blood dribble down into the gold piping of his gaudy collar, smothering it beneath a veneer of sangria. He actually considered branding Dark Kiku like the felon did long ago out of vengeance, then reconsidered. If Dark Kiku died his emotions would die with him. He couldn't be a psychopath for the remainder of his existence.

"You stole my emotions from me. Why." Kiku's voice didn't even hold any question as he pressed the blade more firmly against Dark Kiku's jugular, the emphasis his words severely lacked.

_I wish to become more whole, for you, my wife. However, I didn't know it would make you stronger. It's invokablew, _Dark Kiku panted, eyes trained upon the blade of the katana. He tried gripping Kiku's hands, only to be met with the additional assistance of a small, simple army knife. Dark Kiku wished he'd be more extravagant, like he would've been.

The blood was starting to crest over Dark Kiku's jaw line, like an inverted waterfall. It began streaming into his hair in slim rivulets…

"Have you noticed? I'm not bleeding where I've struck you. We're no longer one. We are only half." His mouth started to rise into a shadow of a smile. Who was the villain now?

Dark Kiku began cackling madly, descending into hacking giggles so ridiculous it would have sent most into hysterical fits had the situation not been so dire. He found strength to defy.

Smacking the blades of steel away, he lunged against Kiku, shoving him to the floor. How idiotic it had been that Kiku thought he could defy the one who was obviously stronger! He'd caught the stoic boy unawares, but the sexual urges that usually burned within were extinguished by Kiku's rapid change in personality, offending him. He felt nothing for this person now, and yearned for a return to the way things were; the way things should be. Kiku couldn't be so brazen as to think he had any power at all in this situation. Right now, he could only see his beloved buried beneath layer upon layer of cold walls, harder than diamond, protecting him from emotional penetration.

_Do you think I'm responsible as either? I hate what you've become, so defiant and selfish! Perhaps I should invade China now and destroy him? _Dark Kiku sneered, licking his lips, clearly insinuating what kind of destruction he had in mind.

Kiku's face darkened, expression not changing, brows furrowing slightly. Dark Kiku smiled a crooked smile of victory, the corners of his lips raised at different heights, not a smirk, not a smile.

The one clad in street black sent his boot into Dark Kiku's gut, sending him harshly to the side, slamming with the rails with a deafening clash of metal and flesh, like bars of iron flying into fences of steel. Kiku stood up, gracefully standing over Dark Kiku who was sprawled upon the ground in a case of delirium.

"My brother is invincible to your advances. Participation in three wars of mechanized failures has destroyed you. Do you think you can recover in time, Imperialism?" Kiku said, voice holding no ounce of emotion. Why wasn't he flying into a fit of rage to protect his brother? That's what would have happened if Kiku retained his old personality. Perhaps it was true; Kiku was surely devoid of emotion, instinct and fleeting bearings of feeling remaining, if Dark Kiku didn't steal them away and render Kiku an emotionless husk.

He loved it. Kiku's emotions swirled through his mind, flowing through a stream of memory, chains of events, lovely and sinister, fettered together in Japan's river of time. He recalled events featuring himself, basking in the terror and horror of some, others strange and unmentionable. The time when he first appeared to Kiku when the nation was but a teenager stood out among many, and he reveled in it the most. Ever since the year of 1914, Kiku was becoming more and more inhuman, killing without remorse and girdling himself to the cool metal that killed. Even now, he could see the boyish nation with at least three pistols girdled to his waist around the coat, the long scabbard a place reserved of its own. Two more holsters were tethered to his thighs, like completely unseemly garters. They held a slightly larger draft of hand-held firearm. From what he knew, Kiku hid small daggers in his boots. He also had two katanas sheathed around his back, two to his waist, one currently in use. From what Dark Kiku had deduced, Kiku was becoming a killing maniac. Being without emotion had killed his destructive reserve.

_How can you live with yourself? Look at you; how many weapons do you carry on your person? Is this really what you've wanted to become? _Dark Kiku smirked, relaxing coyly beneath the weight of Kiku's foot. The long sleeve hid his hand, making it look like the blade had become his appendage, not just an extension of his body.

Beneath the high cowl, Kiku frowned. "Maybe I've changed. I'm not the innocent little boy you've fleshed me out to be."

To this Dark Kiku let loose a gasping, wheezing laugh like a hyena's pitch, making Kiku ever more perplexed at the oddities and ends of this maniacal person. _I'm getting rather exhausted by your pitiful little splay of 'power.' Admit it; without out your already crumbling emotions, you're defenseless against me. You can't cry, can't let adrenaline fuel the fight, can't restrain yourself when the kill is so close. You will melt like the iron beneath our feet before me._

Kiku unsheathed another katana, its hilt becoming shrouded over with the sleeve, a cloth cross-guard. He aimed both at the base of jugular and jaw, the edges eager to cut into their foe. Dark Kiku merely shook his head...no amount of steel would save Kiku from his warm lust, even if the tables were turned right now. Dark Kiku glanced anxiously at his darkened blade, fingers seeking it when the rest of him couldn't. He wanted to make Kiku bleed love, the way Dark Kiku always made him do.

There was that trump card, though. The one thing no amount of speed would ever allow Kiku to attain.

In a flurry of petals dissolving into venetian red, Dark Kiku vanished from his place. He reappeared at Kiku's back, taking him gently around the waist, wishing greatly to strip him away of these cloth defenses and exchange blows, ski to skin. He grinned perversely; yes, he meant _those _kind of blows.

Kiku flinched, but did nothing more. A plethora of weapons and he was still too frozen to make any use of them. What had three years of training been for then?

For the past three years, after the successive operations in China (ah, how many hundreds of innocent people and enemies he'd killed...), Kiku had dedicated himself to purification on the many mounts of his land, training fiercely and long, honing his body as he had in the past, forging with it a new purpose. He was no longer to be a helpless victim like he'd become of late. His people and industries were hardening with the promise of technology, so why shouldn't he? Training with the gun, retraining with a sword, studying diagrams and mechanic draft with a keener interest than ever before—he had no choice but to refine or become smelted into something beyond recognition. And now, here and now, what had it been for? Was war not enough? What did that make Dark Kiku? Why couldn't this problem be solved by a simple matter of the blade or bullet, maybe even his trademark intelligence?

No, Dark Kiku was so much more than that; he was a black hole manifested. He pulled everything of use into his vortex, leaving everything else in hopeless ruin. Now Kiku didn't even have enough emotion to be considered human.

_Even without something so humanly necessary, my soldier of Fortune, I love you nonetheless, _Dark Kiku purred, tightening his grip on Kiku's waist and sandwiching them together back to front. The other hand he used to cure the paralysis in Kiku's hands by coaxing his fingers open, the swords dropping in defeat to the ground. He let Kiku's hands settle to his sides naturally. Dark Kiku turned his lighter(?) self around, fluttering his lashes in such an arousing fashion, at least in a way he thought would be successful. Maybe he'd overlooked too much the potential for Kiku to be...manly. And testosterone could fill in the empty emotion gaps.

He lowered his hands to Kiku's hips, flipping the dusty submissive switch. He couldn't help but wonder if two rings were necessary; a wife on for him and a husband one for his beloved. After all, versatility is sexy, he thought.

Kiku's frost was beginning to melt... He'd ignored such desires within himself for so long that now that he acknowledged them, their rush through his mind was sweetly overbearing, making him burn with irritating hotness in all of the right places. He might have grown a bit as well, having a few inches on the shorter, dark half. Yin was starting to receive some of Yang...

Dark Kiku hitched a leg on Kiku's hip, Japan making no move to keep it there. Disappointed, he tried instead to pull Kiku against the rail, encouraging the stoic nation to rule him. Kiku complied beautifully, approaching slowly, their mouths relaxing to receive an equilibrium of their curious snakes. At first they were venomous and bit, but then an exchange flourished, switching between homes. Imagining Dark Kiku as Yao made it easier, if not hotter, to stand through this sin.

_Ahhh, you sexy beast, don't stop... _Dark Kiku moaned, generously ripping off his coat in acceptance, considerate as to allow Kiku to keep everything on. Chest satisfyingly bare in the dry heat, sweat began coating him, humidity where it was needed most. Kiku said nothing, restraining his voice and any other indicators of pleasure.

Dark Kiku started to kiss Kiku's neck, his favorite place. He could feel the blood rushing hotly by like a stream of rain water through a flue. Only it was warm and felt so good to his incessantly dry lips. Kiku placed angel's kisses on Dark Kiku's hair, light as the falling snow, warm as a spring breeze. Kiku truly was gentle, and Dark Kiku hated that about him. He wished Japan was more aggressive and assertive. That would make for hot nights for sure.

Kuroi Kiku grew bored of kissing his neck and craned his own to kiss up Kiku's face, Kiku reaching downwards to kiss wherever he could. His hands gently held Dark Kiku's back, making him quite the submissive seme. Was he even trying?

_It's no wonder China dumped you for Ivan! _Dark Kiku hissed along with a self-induced groan. Kiku was barely even trying! It was .5% of the 1000% Dark Kiku generously gave to Kiku. Talk about a let down. Why couldn't he bring this ferocity he **always** reserved for battle to bed?

Kiku moved away suddenly, eyes glaring pits of tar, ready to take and submerge any unlucky enough to cross him. All Dark Kiku had been trying was provoke Kiku into cruelty, the kind of energy he hoped would fuel the fire like hydrogen to a match flame.

"You would be wise to hold yourself in reserve when speaking of my Yao-ge," Kiku warned, his eyes glistening with a sad breed of anger, the kind usually used when a small child tried defending something against someone so much much bigger than themselves. Dark Kiku scowled, grudgingly flinging his bloodstained coat back on over his shoulders. Kiku hunkered to the ground, not out of beloved fear, but of retrieval, fingers clasping around his katanas. Dark Kiku couldn't muster the strength to wield his similarly, instead opting to sheath it in truce.

_I will regain control over you, my love. China will be under my foot along with those pitiful nations you insist to be your brothers along with that sad bitch of a sister! Anyone_ _else I'm leaving out? _Dark Kiku snarled cruelly, face cupped in shadow and flames from below. Kiku was shrouded in darkness, as per usual, an aura of overcast light framing his silhouette perfectly.

Kiku sighed dangerously, a growl interwoven in the exhalation. He flipped his head, annoyingly long and free-flowing bangs seeming to sigh away from his face before settling just at his long eyelashes.

"Each time you speak, the desire to kill you almost overrides my lightly taken intuition. I've much at my disposal, haven't I, bastard? I relish for the day you burn in hell." Kiku sheathed his swords lightly, turning his back to Dark Kiku's with devil-may-care indifference. He swaggered as he left, leaving Dark Kiku steaming like a woman infuriated at her partner's absurdly rude leave. Not that Kiku gave a damn.

Far from Dark Kiku as he casually skirted around tired but polite factory workers, hands bound to bottomless pockets. His face fell, as did his confidence. A tear rounded the duct so practiced in squeezing shut, defying the silence he was so accustomed to maintaining.

"Yao-ge, Taiwan-mei, Chongxian-di's, Xiang-Gang-di...please forgive me. We will survive this, even if I must slaughter the other nations...even if I must slaughter myself..."

* * *

_You think about me so Always  
You will probably go somewhere  
You leave me alone and keep running  
I cannot reach you anymore Cannot reach you anymore  
At last being able to meet you  
ended my overflowing patience  
A tear dropped_

_The room where two people stay even now is the same  
Without using either key you will find a way to return  
I can wait forever, you understand  
And now the door is opened, and can visibly show your form_

_

* * *

_

Last thoughts: Hey, what's up! Guess what...another time skip. It's 1918, folks! WW1 is over. That means the October Revolution is going underway in Russia... Yay blood, gore, commies. China? Well, me thinks I'll have him in the palace just for blood n' giggles. No, seriously, I'm dead serious on seriously including this serious event. (Is shot) This chapter was so dead! Violence, dialogue, stuff. Yeah, that's about it. I think the setting was pretty season-neutral since (1) they were in a place that doesn't really feel the weather and (2) it will make it easier for the next chappie in case I need time to think out what time of year to place the setting. Yeah, it will be all Revolution! Russia, and stuff.

History: None. If there's something, I'll be sure to rip it off of Wiki. (Is shot...again) XD

Lyrics: "Reila" by the Gazette

As always, review, review, review!


	25. Red October, Dead November, убийца

_How much longer should I scream?_

_How many more tears should I shed?_

_Enough already, I can't run anymore_

_The world I once dreamed of is lost_

_On this dark, crumbling path that never sees the light_

_I think I saw that hope from back then that never should have existed_

_

* * *

_

"Do you see all of this before you?" came Ivan's emotionless inquiry, his amethyst eyes sparkling with a drained vitality. The scene before him was one of pure and utmost disaster, the ruination of a country once so strong and unbeatable. The tsar had been abdicated, the Great War's bloody influence waning to a cunning trickle. The people had enough, their patience thinner than darkened ice. The time for revolution was now, and the blood of the people and the grave soil of the moaning dead were beginning to fuse in lovely reverie.

The October Revolution had begun. Headed by powerful men under the doctrine of Marxism, Ivan could nearly sense the underlying energy of a dissatisfied people crackling through the ground, convulsing richly through his body. Their combined fervor was maddeningly sweet and fueled this magnificent fire of change.

Years of embittering war and a failing economy had driven the people to this rich salvation, more promising than the heaven so far off, the redemption of the Church's followers. Transportation, the cost of living, food—everything was a bastardized cost of living. Babies were dying in the snow, honest working men and women left to suffer and starve, sending valiant and promising sons to fight a hopeless battle that was draining Russia of everything he owned. The people were his children, and to see a few who misbehaved badly at the expense of all sent Russia into throws of lovely rage. The Great War was lost to them, and even the soldier's wanted restitution for the lives so miserly spent up to this point.

Vladimir Lenin, Leon Trotsky, Joseph Stalin—these were all men of Marxism who would save the people of Russia. They preached Socialism, the doctrines of promise that held so much potential. And in the minds of a desperate people, they had no trouble taking affect and consuming them in promises of riches and elimination of the class system; equality for all.

"Vanya, sir," a lowly soldier addressed Ivan frankly; tilting is hat respectfully but casually, a gesture of equality. Ivan smiled neatly at the young man, proudly assessing this child of Russia, gun holstered properly around his waist, fully suited for battle. His uniform was deceptively simple, appropriate for one of descending rank, a mere private.

As he straightened, Russia could see the confident air about him, the way he carried himself with such strength and assuredness. He wished his beloved could be like a child of Russia, someone he could proud of loving.

Yao was increasingly distant, as usual. There seemed to be no end to his cold and indifference. Honestly, it enraged Ivan, but his love for China surmounted that.

Russia settled himself against the rickety barstool he had perched himself on, a dusty trench coat thrown casually on, and thick boots ideal for the snow dripping, yet warm to his feet. A hat was plastered to his creamy blonde hair, his face and hooked nose running with drops of former snow. The skin was flushed pleasantly, but Ivan knew that a battle was imminent and soon to ensue outside these doors very soon.

He was in an underground cellar, a makeshift bar for the war-wearied revolutionaries. He turned the creaky barstool with an icy, rusting sound, shocking his red-tipped ears. Tobacco smoke wafted lazily around the heads of the patrons here, plumes of musty dust mingling to create an odd smell, deliciously pleasant compared to the frostbitten cold. The bar was long enough, able to accommodate the twenty or so men in their quiet exchange of nerves for alcohol, the wood rubbed down from years of wear. The grains were sanded by ages of use, flaky veneer shining beneath hulky sconces blazing in the clouds of smoke. The underside of the bar was clumped and dented from the rubbing of boots and the occasional indignant kick, lacquer worn away completely. A bronzed bar provided a place of rest for old boots and even older souls. The floor was scuffed deeply by dirt, the floor resembling the dusty enclosure of a working-class stable. Many had trodden here yet no paid mind to cleaning this place. It was small like a matchbox, encouraged taller men to dodge gas-lit sconces hung precariously from sneaking ropes. A hearth on the far end of the bar embraced innocent, childish flames like a mother would her child. The edges of the mantle were starting to fall away from understandable neglect, the planks of wood holding weakly there, exhausted from many years of decoration. This being a cellar, the windows were small and dusted with a thick coat of dirt, powdery as sugared snow. The panes were cracked and ready to completely deteriorate to the touch, as much as anything else here.

Ivan gestured to a flinch-prone and jumpy young bar tender, the ugly woman covered in thick layers of soot, thin lipped and face rich with fat, a double chin wagging as she stepped awkwardly towards Ivan. A massive bosom and thick waist were bound by an unflattering corset, dress as coarse as her wispy and balding hair. She grinned with gaped teeth, several missing, the trademark of poverty. Callous hands paused from wiping clean a cracked and smoky mug, meaty fingers placing both on the counter with a loud clatter. She fastened her apron tighter, squinty eyes examining the handsome nation before her.

"And to what may I refresh your thirst, sir?" she asked with an approachable kindness, eyes smaller than a rat's squinting from plump dimples. Her hands cinched the clinging rag of an apron tighter around her massive waist, easily surpassing the circumference of even the bulkiest men present here. However, her kindness was something admirable.

"Your tallest mug and finest vodka," Ivan forwarded grandly, earning him wizened grins to the bar patrons within closest reach. He smacked the appropriate amount of roubles into the woman's hand, which she gladly accepted, change included. She rummaged among arenaceous bottles and found what should've been her best vodka with a sound of discovery. She wiped callous hands across the front, hands acquiring a fine layer of soot. The label was considerably aged, which should assure its old and fine age.

She popped off the cork with strong recoil, the contents of the bottle swishing loudly inside. Several of the men began calling with flirty appeal to the woman, trying to haggle her out of getting the liquor to where it needed to be. She merely brushed away their wolf calls with a dismissive hand and modest replies to sarcastic ones. She shuffled with a manly gait to Ivan's place and set the bottle before him, eyeing him with jovial mischief.

"All right, Mr. Russia, finest vodka in my humble establishment—distilled the in the breweries of kings!" Her proclamation was humorous in its sarcasm, but appreciated nonetheless. It was little wonder many homeless men saw this woman as a motherly figure.

Russia seized the bottle gently and poured in a dainty shot glass. He slid the glass absently to the liquor-starved man, thin as a stave, beside him. The man gratefully lapped it up, but seemed more fascinated with Ivan's action.

Ivan seized the large bottle and began to drain it, slaking this thirst faster than humanly possible in enormous swells of alcohol. He held it high for the bar to see, chugging it eagerly and without restraint. The light played within the water-colored liquid, bending and bulging in interesting refractions, attention-seeking. Soon there was no more liquor for the light to experiment with and was soon left with only a sooty bottle.

Ivan teetered slightly, laughing raucously in his delirium. He gripped the neck of the bottle with shaky confidence, finally hurling it in the face of the mantle where it broke loudly, a splash of glass glittering orange in the firelight like water hurled to the sun. The promise of war exhilarated him and he wanted it to commence it as soon as possible. This rage never seemed to be quelled, as of late. Blood was in history. He is blood; he wants to drown, to breathe, to vomit—his existence is blood. And why is that? Why was blood everything?

He as a nation, he as a person—no nation could escape this fate. Their ties, any treaties and connections, all were writ and sealed in blood.

"Might want to hold yerself back a bit," advised one of the older gentlemen, face crisped in a massive beard. He was old and his eyes were ringed by fleshy folds of dying skin. But those eyes were vibrant and wise, an untold cunning lurking within.

His voice wisped like tendrils of smoke past Ivan's ears and he listened to their gentle tone. His breathing calmed, looking around at the sea of wide eyes that kept a wary distance. A silence filled the sudden void and pervaded the originally still air. It seemed his exuberance was alien and out of place when one of history's largest coup d'état was going underway. Their gazes filled him with a sharp pang of shame and he lowered himself to the barstool once again.

Suddenly, a crescendo of cheering cleared away the stagnant air, filling it with electrified feeling and passion. Ivan looked up to see the other patrons abandon the fearful silence for a strong cheer portly in strength. Even the old man who had seemingly reprimanded his earlier outburst not even a minute before had a twinkle in his eye. Everyone who was once filled with an oppressive fear combated it with relentless courage and an indomitable hope. It filled Russia with pride that his actions let others follow suit without fear of repression or scolding.

Everyone knew full well that they were ready to overtake just another obstacle in a long line of successes, and the time for the final strike of Petrograd was nigh approaching.

The time for assault was now.

* * *

Yao thought bitterly about Ivan, a seething rage filling him that refused to quell. It was consuming and filling him to the brink; not even years of training in multiple arts could clam his anger now.

Ivan had practically kidnapped him to take part in this coup, saying it was of the utmost importance that he should bear witness to Russia's revolution. He was exhausted from internal fighting within himself and couldn't stand to undertake another war. He was nauseated by blood more than ever; the ennui from war…he'd had enough. He couldn't bear to see the faces of so many people, even complete strangers, stare at him with lifeless eyes. It was sheer torture this century seemed.

Still, he was restless. He was within the confines of a building of pompous belongings, surrounded by haughty decorations and smug ornaments. The crystal chandelier above him caught his attention, the small beads of light trembling and ringing with a pure and anxious plea. Yao perked his ears to hear the sounds of gunfire and the boom of shells upon their impact with intricate shields of concrete and mortar. His ears listened to the piercing cacophony of women's shrill cries and the men's determined battle cries. The moans of the dying and wounded never escaped his notice. All were chaotically blended with the screaming flurries of blanketing snow that supported the Red Army, plowing them ahead. Scarves and hats flew inverse in the direction of the Soviet forces, like the magnetic insistence of a compass needle forever fixated to the north. Yao scampered to the window, hiding himself from those who could mistake him for an official hiding in the cover of cowardice. Squeezing his body to the rim of the window frame, his head shyly and slowly surveyed the scene ensuing with ravenous cruelty around him.

The opposition of the Duma was pushing with fervor towards their enemies, contrabands to the heirs of the former Tsar. The wind was a mighty and whipping force of icy bullets and draining cold. Buildings in the tight notched governmental district were cratered from the impact of heavy artillery, the result of a desensitizing campaign against the Duma and its officials. Columns of disarrayed men were of a haphazard discipline and charging fearlessly towards those they resented, covering fast ground. The snow was of no hindrance to even the bulky machinations of foreign tanks purchased for use against Germany. They headed the long column of darkened and whitened men, the fireworks emitting from the muzzle of the machine gun faster than a strobe light, crippling the opposition. Men fell left and right, only a few taken from those of the Red.

Yao noticed with alarm the stunning rate of death occurring here; new metallic beasts had grown since his last modern war, and scared him. They were like nothing he'd even seen before. The kettle drum beats of the machine guns crackled like kernels of dried corn blooming into popcorn from within a metal pot. He could hear the whine and whizz of bullets past the window, making his recoil away from the scene in mild terror. What were these things? Would he ever see these monstrosities in future battles?

"Aiya! I need to get out of here," Yao told himself quietly in Mandarin, trying to spur his mind into thinking of an escape, but was met instead with a fierce resistance of darkened clouds like the ones floating like angels of death outside. He could think of nothing, but fate decided to mete out a plan for him.

Shattering glass jarred him back into reality and he glared at it with signs of intimidation. The window had pitifully broken and was limp and jagged like the serrated maw of death. Lances of jagged glass jutted with ugly intimidation, the snow pouring through like the white-hot flames of a dragon. Luckily Yao was incognito, as to not raise alarm for any who saw him. Perhaps, if he was lucky, they would simply view him as a misplaced foreigner should anyone intrude upon this room?

Gritting his teeth in resolve, he pushed away the mires of fear. Remembering the machinations of the door lock, he inhaled a calming breath. Releasing it sharply, he leapt adroitly into the air, sending a ramrod straight leg, heel to metal, downwards again. The doorknob clipped off with sudden force, freeing away the lock. Yao rushed to swing the door open, slamming it closed again. His ears picked up traces of men who had decided to invade this place and loot it of promising artifacts. If this wasn't reason enough to escape, what was? If he remained here, death was assured.

Yao groped his way through the dark halls, cloaked in the night of war. He didn't have much trouble, really, and was able to succeed in navigating the tall building.

He felt the holster with its Russian pistol; one gifted to him by Toris before the Baltic had fled the city, and checked it with practiced precision before venturing out-of-doors. Brazenly exiting through the front doors could surely attract trouble so he found entrance to a practically abandoned basement, the door in ill repair on its last legs. He dashed through in into a dusty darkness, coughing away floating dust, static in the air.

He skirted and whirled around large impediments, cloth covered, before finding a door that presumably led to the alley between most of the buildings. He rattled the rust covered doorknob and finally hurled it open, a portion of floor smoothed clean in its wake. He found himself within an alley, the sounds of civil war ricocheting within the claustrophobic confines.

The whimpering of children never failed to escape his notice. He could a band of three, one girl and two boys, huddled beneath poor excuses for blankets. The smallest, the girl, looked up at him with baleful and frightened eyes. Her breath hitched in her throat in alarm and she squeezed her eyes shut as if to ward off a bad dream. Yao greeted them softly in accented Russian, which made one of the braver boys withdraw from their little sanctuary to apprehend China.

"Who are you?" he asked, brows furrowed in suspicion and arms folded defensively. Or rather, from the cold that taunted the bare skin of his arms and legs. The façade of bravery was crumpled by trembling and watery eyes and pursed lips, dry and cracked. Like his two friends, he was filthy in a veneer of soot and grime. He hacked a cough before resuming his suspicious gaze.

"I am Yao, a foreigner," China greeted neutrally, seeing a young Japan in this hardy boy. A face of innocence gentled Yao, who reached into a knapsack slung on one of his shoulders, retrieving a loaf of bread, the only morsel of food he could find within the empty building. Oh well, he was immortal. These frail bubbles of life weren't.

This boy was such a startling resemblance to Kiku. Not in appearance the least, but in the way he tried to be strong for his younger friends, protecting them from the cold and guarding them from strangers who could harbor ill will towards them. Such behavior was always rife in a war. The boy gingerly took the bread and split it in half for the other children who whispered thank you's towards Yao. The boy readjusted the blankets tighter over them both, muttering condolences and assurances of their safety. He returned with a softened expression, a slight smile upon his tired face.

"Thank you," he said softly, weakly. The boy glanced over his shoulder to the other children who were nibbling the bread silently.

"I thought we would die. We're too afraid to ask for help, because the last time we did, those men ignored us. I'm just so afraid for my siblings here. We haven't had a good meal in days since the attacks started and leaving this place would mean a faster death. I don't care if I die, but I just want my brother and sister to live." The boy smiled a wistful smile, a tear cascading unnoticed down his cheek. Yao heart ached for these helpless children, especially how similar they were to his own. Taiwan's face flashed before his eyes, as did Xiang Gang's, when he studied the small children again. Would the ravages of war reduce them to this?

"Is there anything more I can do?" Yao pleaded, eyes becoming wet and moist in compassion. He wanted to save these children, even though many more would die as a result of this war.

The boy shook his head. "Unless you can stop this war, there's not much one person can do."

"N-No! Let me help you! I'll get you to safety so you can live!" China implored, overcome with a sudden obsession to save these children. He saw his own within them and for them to die would tear his heart to shreds.

The boy let his face fall to the ground. "Why bother? Our parents are dead—we saw them die—and my sister's leg is paralyzed and she can't walk. My brother has pneumonia and I have a bad fever."

"I'm going to save you three, no matter what!" Kiku's blank and hopeless eyes watched him, wondering why some stranger cared enough for them to live. Those eyes that challenged him on so many occasions, defiant and emotionless.

"Why would you care about some kids who are better off dead?" he questioned, the despair becoming more and more prevalent in the youth's eyes.

"Because…I have siblings of my own. They're grown now, but still very naïve and in need of my protection. You've reminded me of the responsibility I have over them." China raised his head, feeling the cold blessings touch his skin. There was something cleansing about admitting that; a truth he had long repressed. "Besides, you just told me you'd die for your siblings. How hypocritical is it for you to let them succumb to death? I'll make sure that you honor your promise to them. Big brothers and sisters have to watch over the younger ones."

The boy only nodded, eyes softening. China could tell that having responsibility would give this young boy a reason to keep on living. It might not have been the same if Yao hadn't intervened for them.

The boy gathered his brother and sister together, pulling the frail yet pretty girl on his back. She reached around to clutch his shoulders, a sleepy cough escaping into the cold air. The other, younger boy hesitantly stood up, grasping the blanket around him like a cloak. They seemed ready to move, and Yao pulled the pistol from its holster.

"What are you names?" he asked suddenly, startling the meditative oldest boy.

"I'm Aleksis, my brother is Mikhail, and my sister is Anya." Yao nodded, filling their names away. Now that they knew each other, a pact of trust formed, they could now commence with this operation. He would do everything within his power to protect them.

Yao silently gestured forward, and they followed him without a sound, soundless even in the turbulence of this war. Mounds of men and columns of smoke could be seen in the clamor of the war, through the narrow slit of an alleyway. Deciding that going forward would be too harrowing, as well as stupid, they reversed the direction of their flight. His senses were sharpened, ready to embrace anything that could come their way. They rounded the perimeter of the building, Aleksis careful not to disturb Anya too much, Mikhail trudging slowly in his tiredness. The sky overhead was overcast in smoke and cloud, the snow never ending in its torrents of cold. They emerged into a fairly quiet street, only a few Red Guards patrolling, prowling rather, for any signs of Duma supporters. Yao made himself known and explained that he merely a bystander protecting children. However, their suspicion seemed aroused when they inspected Yao's face closer, perversely pleased at their discovery.

"We can protect you, Miss," one offered in sarcastic voice. He was ugly inside and out, teeth frowned by rot and skin raked by dirt, the smell less pleasant than a pig. Both men resembled this condition, worn not by fighting, worn not at all. They staggered with a drunken confidence towards Yao and the children, causing Yao to bristle defensively.

"Damn, haven't seen a hot lady stroll around here a long time," the other drawled. They seemed ignorant of the fact that Yao was indeed male, at least in his mind, but these men were too doltish to even see that.

"Hey, wanna join us for a drink, pretty lady? We'll make those kids of yours feel better, too," the first taunted, licking his lips perversely. He began to saunter over to Yao, manner arrogant and swagger evident.

The yelp of a young girl caught Yao's attention, and, to his horror, he saw young Anya lifted from her place on Aleksis's back. The young boy was fiercely trying to free his sister, but even with the help of Mikhail, they were no match for the much stronger soldier.

"Hey, you wanna fuck with that lady? Go ahead, you fine bastard! Save some for me!" the man shouted, gesturing with wavering grace to his friend. The other man seized Yao in his moment of weakness and drove him to the ground. The snow created a cold truce with his skin, the chilly fevers running throughout his body. The man hovered overhead and Yao could distictly hear the sound of a zipper being undone, sourcing from the man's pants.

"Calm down, you fucking whore!" the man cursed vehemiently, slapping Yao clear across his face, a red welt left behind in its wake. "Frickin' Duma won't let us screw with the women here, so you'll have to do, you bleeding bitch!" Yao simply replied by glaring, his mind racing to piece together some sort of plan to shake off this barbarian man. His eyes reeled towards the children, and a feminine-enough sounding cry escaped though his lips as he saw Mikhail sent to the ground from a punch to the stomach, Aleksis crumped similarily nearby.

"Focus on me, slutty bitch," the domineering man growled, ripping off Yao's coat, the Chinese man weakened by his muddled mind unable to focus on reality. A knife snapped from its sheath as Yao's shirt was torn apart to reveal his bare chest, racing up and down like the waves in a fierce storm, erratic and dangerous. He craned his eyes to Anya, conscious but bawling loudly in fear.

"You're too young to properly enjoy, but you should fetch a good price at some whore house," the man announced, hoping Yao would hear. Satisfied that China was, so pulled a knife from a coat pocket and held it menancingly to the girl's throat, and her screams rose into a higher crescendo. "Try anything the girl dies, bitch," the man added, sending a searingly evil gaze towards Yao. The knife glinted from the snowy light, catching Yao's eyes.

"This whore's a man," the soldier cried in disgust, a hand on Yao's obviously bare chest, face twisted into stupid contemplation. "Ah, well, in Rome they had whore-boys, so why not here?" Decided, the man proceeded to rip off the coat and shirt as a whole, leaving Yao bare from the waist up, shivering terribly in the cold.

Mikhail's eyes fumbled open, and he gripped the snow, trying to grasp consciousness. He whirled his head around to Yao, stomach smarting badly. He saw as Yao was silent against the flurries of snow, the Asian man's eyes watching him desperately, flicking between all three of them. He could do nothing with Anya's death threat hanging over him, the young girl now trying to choke down her sobs, trying to tear herself away from Yao's immenent rape.

Clenching his fists, Mikhail staggered upwards. While the rapist was busily licking in many places, the other watching in wicked delight, they paid him no mind. Catching sight of his young sister, he decided to act now.

Charging into the knife-weilding soldier, Mikhail reached for the knife and flung it away before he could gather his wits about him. Before the dastardly oaf could comprehend what was happening, Mikhail slammed his boot into the man's crotch. The man began gasping and wheezing, his face burning in pain and voice subdued by it. Aleksis was still down, but Mikhail managed to snatch his sister away in his arms and rouse his brother into awakening. Aleksis, still somewhat bleary, regained his senses and threw himself on the rapist, beating the pervert with his fists, boots, and furious cries of adrenilized anger.

Yao snatched himself back into strength, kicking as hard as he could anywhere he could. The man shrieked as girlishly as anyone could have though possible, eliciting a smirk of victory on part of Aleksis. The young boy flung himself aside and let Yao heave the fat barbarian off of him, snaking away and grabbing what remained of his clothing. All that was salvageable was the coat, for the shirt was torn to shreds. He pulled the coat on, disregarding the extreme cold that permeated with a burning sensation throughout his body.

The men were rounded together, young Anya safe again within the arms of Mikhail who was intent of never leaving her so vulnerable again. Aleksis took his place besides his younger brother, smiling grimly at their small victory.

Yao glared with blood lust at the demonized bastards before him, feeling nothing but anger and hate.

Without remorse he shot both men in the knees, causing them to crumple to the ground in screams, blood spreading through the snowy earth like red dye running through and blending in a snow cone. They glared and cursed terrible profanities at him, many of them too offensive to the ears of children. Mercilessly he shot their throats, the burbling and bubbling of blood refusing their voices. Yao was sure to shoo along the children, Aleksis taking measures to shield their eyes from the inhumane method of human disposal. Released from their innocent vision, he pressed the nose of the gun to the men's heads, and pulled the trigger two last times, ending their lives indefinitely. Not bothering to erase the evidence of kills, he followed the pressed white trails of the children.

Finally catching up with them, Yao tried his best to avoid their accusatory eyes.

_Despite what they did, no one deserves to die, _their eyes told him.

* * *

"Ivan, we're very close to conquering the prime capital building. The takeover is very close to being finished."

Russia, in a very smug manner, proudly smiled at their grand achievements. He held his trademark water spout with a prideful hand, bringing it heavily upon the skull of a non-Soviet soldier. He had been slaying any remnants of those still alive, preserving the quietness of the long abandoned battlefield.

Men had scurried left and right as they overtook the city, making Ivan swell with pride at the strength of his beloved children. Their rampage had been deliciously destructive, although they tanks had failed due to the men piloting them suffering from a heat stroke, and also due to engine troubles. Disappointing as it was, manpower was always the most reliable source for the war machine's endless charge.

The city around him was crumbling under the pressures of battle, the testament to these men's long-contained anger and frustrations at how the government insisted continuation of a fruitless war and the failing economy. Families wanted to fed and guided by a wise government, not one as weak and corrupt as the Duma. Thus, in the swirls of snow and emotion, such attempts at dramatic revolution finally began its conception.

Ivan trudged through the fast-accumulating snow, stepping automatically over the mounds of bodies being painted white, blending with the landscape. Since he was so invaluable a soldier, he'd been ordered to follow up the rear and slay any of the enemy should they miraculously be alive and mercifully end the lives of those of the Red Army fallen with a quick gunshot, quick and painless.

They continued at a snail's pace until Ivan had had enough of this tirade. He broke away from the pleads of the officer, begging for Russia's return, as the nation blasted into an inhuman sprint through the main street, eager to join the true fighting not far up ahead. Like the primal instinct for survival, he began to bash the skulls of any opposing assailant.

The sick crush of bone and flesh filled his eyes, fulfilled by the screams of those who were chosen to endure it. His scarf flew in wide-winged frenzy around him like a dizzy bird, fluttering as the heavy metallic bludgeon made nests within the flesh and bone of the enemy. The torment of those who wished to oppose prosperity was this, the eternal reward of death's hollow kiss and sweet venom to the soul. The bodies of men heaped around him fell away as his own restored their own failing strength, attacking from all sides began and flourished.

A man situated high above the ground, a specially trained sniper, was shooting down men with stunning accuracy, a hunter elevated to ethereal heights. The bee sting of bullets met many men, those of the Duma suffering terrible fates. Several gunmen hidden in derelict buildings with cracked windows shot those caught within the rat's trap of the Soviets. The Duma was dying with each man fell by bludgeon or bullet. Within minutes, hundreds of badly guarded and armed men were reduced to twitching masses of dying man flesh.

After hours of battle, Ivan paused to wipe away tendrils of blood cascading down his brow. He surveyed the area around the square. Winter was already claiming many of the bodies, burying them before they could reach the cemetery.

The gasp of the child caught Ivan's attention. Fury poured into his being as he saw the young intruders, bloodstained and wracked with signs of struggle.

"Those could be spies for the Duma. It would be best if they didn't report what they've seen," a snaking conscience of a voice whispered to him. Russia turned doubtfully towards the men who had finally caught up with him.

"They're but children," he said, rejecting the man's suspicions.

"It's not wise to take chances," Russia interjected, beginning to pocket his gun in its holster.

"Ivan, you're being unwise! Those children's treachery could spell the end of prosperity for an entire country; you!"

"How?" Ivan snarled, in absolute disbelief of his men suggesting he murder innocent children.

"I told you, they could be more dangerous than even an adult."

Ivan turned away, beginning to walk away from the situation.

"Demitri and Boris are dead, sir; witnesses came to us a moment ago saying they say they saw the two men die horribly violent deaths," the man confided. "Demitri and Boris, the men who helped rescue many women and children from the fire of the last campaign. The ones who became like brothers to you, who became precious family you believe you lack?"

Ivan whirled to see the children hunker again into the ally, as if speaking to someone. The glint of a gun flashed suddenly from the blackness of the ally; gunshots had been fired not a minute before when the reports of Demitri and Boris's deaths had been reported.

Rage filled him ad began to blind him, and he felt a violent hatred towards these instruments of the Duma. In cold blood they had killed the men most precious to him, for what, the selfish pursuit of food? Money? Simple things like that would come in abundant flows once Communism had spread her wings and flew blessings over all four corners of Russia. What they did was selfish and unforgivable!

"Move aside," he growled harshly, removing his gun from his holster, tears burbling and blurring. He didn't give a damn whatever their sob story was; infinite numbers of other people shared similar if not worse fates.

Their selfishness cost the Red Army the lives of the most promising and kindly men Russia had ever met. They would not escape their retribution.

He fired the gun twice in a sparking crescendo, once heart-center of the boy and the other lodged in the girl's head. Death would be their maker.

* * *

Time froze to the slowest of motions. Aleksis was teetering backwards, face frozen in shock, Anya similarly silent. They fell with the speed of a freezing river in his eyes, blood leaving their bodies and staining their thin clothes.

Yao could only gap in abject horror as he witnessed this horrific event unfold. The only thing that grounded him in reality was Mikhail's cries of revenge, his vows and death wish. China grabbed the small child, keeping him from thrusting himself into a deadly fray. Mikhail only screamed, screamed, screamed. His face was blazing in tears as death quickly overtook his brother and tiny sister, flailing against Yao's waning strength. Yao was caught within the straits of horror, unable to do anything but stare onwards into paralyzing oblivion.

Mikhail finally freed himself, tearing through the snow, almost careening on all fours. The blanket floated away from him like a delicate flower carried by soft summer winds. He reached their sides and worked to pull his dead sister from his dying older brother's weight, holding her with useless and obsessive protection.

"B-Brother?" he blubbered through his tears, stroking the tattered hair of his gasping and wheezing brother. Yao sprinted to his side, holding the head of Aleksis. Mikhail was beginning to wail the cry of lost souls, the words he wanted to say lost in the ranting of tears. China was succumbing to tears of his own, face squeezing and crumpling like and eye trying to protect itself from the glare of the sun. Rivulets of tears streaked both of their faces, carving rivers down their faces.

"C-come...on, you—"he violently hacked a burst of blood in Yao's face "—wimp… You know…that…I l-love…you…"

"I thought you always had hated me," moaned Mikhail, cowering over his brother, cradling his lifeless sister.

"I—lied. I was…just…jealous of you. Mom always…loved you…best…"Aleksis breathed, dribbles of blood flowing from his mouth. His chest spasmed as he coughed up more blood; his chest bled at a terrific rate.

_You love Xiang-Gang and Taiwan, as well as the Koreas, best. It's true. I can see it in your eyes, Gege._

"You were always—"Mikhail hiccupped through his tears "—mom's favorite and you know that!" His passion was there, as well as love coming too late.

_Gege always talks about you, Er-ge. He really does care about you._

"I-I'll get to…be...with...her…now. Sis is waiting for me…Mik," Aleksis said softly, cupping his brother's face in a gesture of brotherly love.

_It's my responsibility to protect them, Mei-mei. Gege has no need for me as anything else. I'm a burden to him._

"You protected us whenever we were in trouble, too!" Mikhail shouted at his fading brother.

_You saved me that one time, Erge._

"Mik…promise me one thing."

_Erge, just promise me one tiny, little thing!_

"Anything, Alek!" Another hiccup; another blubbering of tears.

_Please, just live. You do have purpose in this world, Erge!_

"Will you…live for all of us?" Aleksis pleaded softly, brushing away the escapes of tears.

_I'll do it for you, meimei._

"Yes!" A faint smile and more endless, sparkling tears.

_That makes me happy, Erge…_

"Thank you, that...makes me happy, bro—"

Aleksis closed his eyes and released one last breath. Mikhail descended into more tears, joined by the wailing of Yao.

_Was this a living premonition of things to come?_

_

* * *

_

_The tears I've held back are about to overflow_  
_Don't look down now_  
_I come to a halt_  
_I wanted to live in the future, but I get it now, I remember_  
_I believe with all my heart_

_

* * *

_

Last thoughts: Okay, I'd thought I'd make one thing clear: the fighting in this story is likely to be unlikely and historically inaccurate. What I'm trying to do is teach history, not so much as get an accurate conception of what actually happened. This makes this story slightly AU by doing that, just to warn you.

History: "The **October Revolution** (Russian: Октябрьская революция, _Oktyabr'skaya revolyutsiya_), also known as the **Great October Socialist Revolution**, **Red October** or the **Bolshevik Revolution**, was a political revolution and a part of the Russian Revolution of 1917. It took place with an armed insurrection in Petrograd traditionally dated to 25 October 1917 Julian calendar

(7 November 1917 Gregorian calendar).[2]

It was the second phase of the Russian Revolution, after the February Revolution of the same year. The October Revolution in Petrograd overthrew the Russian Provisional Government and gave the power to the local soviets dominated by Bolsheviks. As the revolution was not universally recognized outside of Petrograd there followed the struggles of the Russian Civil War (1917–1922) and the creation of the Soviet Union in 1922.

The revolution was led by the Bolsheviks,[2] who used their influence in the Petrograd Soviet to organize the armed forces. Bolshevik Red Guards forces under the Military Revolutionary Committee began the takeover of government buildings on 24 October.[2] On 25 October (JC) the Winter Palace (the seat of the Provisional government located in Petrograd, then capital of Russia), was captured."

Also, the title comes from the fact that the calenders of Russia and most of the modernized world were different. In Russia, the month of October was November according to the Gregorian calender.

Sorry if this chapter was reaaally sad. I thought I'd break away from the excessive violence for once…

Lyrics are from "Black Rock Shooter" by ryo, sung by Hatsune Miku.

Thanks for everyone's support!

As always, review, review, review!


	26. Blood of the Dead, Dawn Never Tread, кук

_Is it going to disappear or to be lost as the time goes by?_  
_Do the swinging clouds hide the sin, you and the days?_  
_Fortresses lined up with no space in between. The End of the ideal._  
_Everything has become derelict, disappeared cold._

_

* * *

_

They were all disgusted by it. The fascism, the oppression, the rape of the people. Russia had done the right thing, surmounting over the bastardized Duma and their cohorts, taking the power for themselves. He was the enemy now. The young man once seen as Japan's filial and pious representative, the spirit of the country had disappeared beneath the tides of the other's hate and smothering. The sexual disgrace, the years of isolation from his power, Kiku had enough. His body bled as he walked, the ground betraying his every step with crimson vengeance, the other in black so eager to follow, a bloodhound ready to snap his neck. The forest he'd erected his heart, its organic fortress, had confused Dark Kiku with its swirling smells and endless winter. Blood was buried beneath mounting swirls of snow, the voice he never spoke lost to the howling of the winds. One wolf's howling had become twenty.

The year was 1923, the time when Japan's Communist was underway and starting to flourish on its own. Those who were as revolted as he were to find sanctuary in the underground, maybe in the smoky izakayas away from polite society or somewhere beyond _his_ ashen reach. The Communists were abhorred by those within in power; they were the sole thing that threatened the Diet's unopposible power, the one cog in the war machine that was beginning to loosen threateningly and bring the flame swords and death with it.

The Third International in Moscow was held in March, 1923. Such a meeting was important to further establish stronger ties with the Russian delegation, the haven for underground Communist movements taking place in certain reaches of the world where circumstances were too oppressing to make their stance against the Fascism of Imperial Japan known to the world.

That was what it had come to, hasn't it?

The audience chamber of the meeting hall wasn't impressive in the least, for traditions of frugality in Communist Russia barred even government officials from living in opulence off the hard-earned spoils of the people, who were the true government.

The ceiling was high but only sparsely decorated with simple crown moldings and tasteful colors. The room was large enough, with a wide, circular lacquered wood table with many seats swimming around it like clock hands. The floors were carpeted, the wood beneath shining richly from good care but not over-indulgence. Everything was like an old, gently used suit; not the newest or most expensive thing, but rather something simpler yet well cared for.

A single chandelier like a candelabra reflected several stars of light throughout the room, illuminating it warmly beneath the heat of gas-burning flames, tear-shaped class containing each flame like an innocent jewel. Several suited men, all wearing cordial expressions, were beginning to file into the room through double sets of doors. They restlessly chatted among themselves, muttering like nervous sheep before the unpredictable shepherd.

Russia was enjoying himself among the milling of men from around the world, many Caucasian, but he was able to spot the skin of some darkened in different shades of skin. However, if all were neat and in order, if all were here to revel in the blessings of Communism, than race had nothing to do with him.

"Gentlemen, we'll begin in a moment's notice, so please, settle down," Ivan announced in a friendly manner, so unlike him. These men were strange for sure, but imagining them all with his jade treasure's lovely face made him feel much more at ease, even if said nation hated him with a flaming passion. One head, shorter than most and shining like burnished ebony, caught his attention. Immediately, his visage darkened and thunder rolled in across his face. If he could have his lead pipe at any moment, it would be now.

There stood the country who humiliated him at sea, who had stolen his lover's heart, and had destroyed the people's confidence in their country. Only Communism saved them, but without it, Russia's vendetta against the tiny island nation would ripe his healing shreds of sanity apart, and blood would be shed.

Stealing away from the crowd's practiced suspicion, Russia moved in a fluttering of scarf wings, coattails flying like kite tails with his sudden speed. He found the black-haired person's arm and seized it in a vice, clenching with knuckle-white strength.

Kiku found himself to be dragged away, no sign of fear upon his countenance (I have no fear left, he reflected). He tried to brace himself by planting his shined dress shoes into the floor, but was merely hauled forward again with aggressive force. The small blades he had hidden within his coat pockets seemed tempting to utilize, but he feared angering his captor further.

"Please, let me go," he said in monotone Russian, a voice so emotionless it startled the brusque Russian man. Ivan turned around, safely in the hallways and out of sight, and his amethyst eyes caught sight of eyes so dark and devoid of feeling it was like staring down an apparition. No, even ghosts have more feeling, Ivan thought, studying his quarry with an almost scientific examination. Exam-a-nation. How appropriate and delightfully punny, but was rather quite anti-climatic.

"Why should I?" Russia snarled, lips curling like a growling wolf. His expression was livid, every ounce of contained anger dissipating from the weakened walls of diplomacy. "Why are you here?" He removed his hands from clutching Kiku's arm to grabbing the lapels of the boyish nation's suit, the starched thing crinkling with the age of dead leaves. Ivan's face was wrinkled into an ugly mask of anger, barbaric nature taking over.

"I'm not your enemy," Kiku stated clearly, brows furrowing with an attempt at emotion. His hand clasped around Russia's, not making any move to remove the European nation's grip but merely to be ready to act, should violence erupt from their encounter.

"Why should I believe you?" Russia demanded, nails scratching into Kiku's skin, burning, but the Japanese kept his expression schooled into one of a firm stance.

"I'm here to learn what I can of Communism," he stated simply, his eyes never leaving Russia's. A spark of understanding passed between them, and Russia released his hands, slumping to the other wall parallel to Kiku's.

"What happened to you, Japan? Why are your eyes, your voice, so emotionless? Have you died so soon? Tell me before I remove you from this place." The taller nation never let his gaze falter; beaming Kiku with eyes so intense he had to turn away.

Instead of giving a clear answer, Kiku began unbuttoning his long suit coat, letting it slide off his sleeves once finished. He began doing the same with the dress shirt underneath, keeping it tucked in, sliding the crisp fabric from his flayed arms and body. Beneath, horribly scabbed and dribbling red skin returned Russia's gaze with a painful intensity emotions couldn't describe. Like someone had whipped his body with barbed wire, Kiku's skin appeared as if layers had been removed, and once newly raw, carved into by feral demons of some sort. Arms, abdomen, chest, back…all were so heavily scarred and scratched deeply that there was no skin, but scabs like gnarly bark. This was the picture of horrible torture, a prescription not even the most sick-minded sadist could fathom doing that themselves.

Russia's eyes hardened and his face froze over in a mask of grim contemplation, lips pursed in a firm line. So this is what Kiku's Yang half, as Yao had once described him, had done to the small nation. He knew that no mark of his own, no remembrance of any bloody kind, would ever seep very deep into this boy's deep memory.

"Can you see now? Why I am here? He's turned my people against themselves and their liberties to a fierce dictatorship. There's no escape, for all is heavily oppressed. The military is what he prizes above all, and even they are treated no better than dogs," Kiku said bitterly, hooding his eyes in shades of anger. The boiling emotion he wanted so desperately to unleash was stolen, and what was left was fast slipping away.

Kiku felt a hand slip beneath his guard and slide inexorably along his jaw towards his chin, forcing it to rise. He was met with Russia's eyes, enigmatic and unreachable by question. Russia moved the other hand and gently swept thick tendrils of fringe overhanging his ears away from his face. Kiku looked at him with unguarded eyes, secrets swirling within.

"Your emotions are slipping away," Russia said quietly, bringing the once active hand down to rest at his side, the other still holding Kiku's chin. "You'll be like a doll soon."

"Do you remember that day, Japan? When you came negotiate and I turned you into a doll before it was oh-so futile?" Russia's voice purred, lips rising into a faint smile, than lowering again. "Your body is ugly and revolting to look upon, dear boy. But your face is still very beautiful. Yes, I think when Imperial Japan has stripped you entirely away, I shall take you as my own and you can be beautiful like a flower in resin, forever."

"Why would you do that?" Kiku asked, his voice dull and stoned.

"Because you're so very beautiful, like your brother, although not quite as much as you, tiny, tiny nation. His strength is beginning to make my dear jade treasure so soiled and ugly, so once he sees you as a pretty little doll, he'll abandon his men and join you!" Russia giggled, enough to make any sane person irate.

"He's much stronger and more disciplined than that," Kiku calmly countered, moving Russia's hand from his chin with graceful dismissal. He started to button his shirt up again, only to feel the slamming force of trains pin his hands into the wall.

"Tell me, Japan: how dearly are you willing to pay to receive my Communism? How badly do you, and your people, want it?" Russia whispered, breath brushing past his ears insinuatingly. He loomed over Kiku with an engulfing shadow, the taller man having to swoop downwards to say it as such.

Kiku's eyes glinted for a moment, sensing the danger but not emotionally perceiving it. They flicked to Russia's, those petrified lavenders alight with mal-intent. Waves of heat radiated from the Russian's body, signaling to Kiku what he might intend to do.

"I would pay any price for what my people have already paid for so dearly," Kiku whispered back, turning so Ivan's ear so he could perceive Kiku's breezy voice, frozen in calm.

"Any price?" Russia said, his voice raising a note higher as he moved his head quickly away from Kiku's small ear and locked their gazes together.

"Yes," Kiku said, wanting to pull away in vain. Russia responded by moving closer, crushing his little doll closer to the wall. Kiku wanted to fight, wanted to tear something of Russia's off, an arm, leg, and watch him bleed for all of the miseries he'd extolled upon his brothers, but remembered why he was here.

"I adore how noble you pretend to be," Russia murmured, eyes softening in lust, pretending that Kiku was Yao. But the resemblance never came; Yao's beauty lay in his strength, his heart, his body, though he was by no means ugly. For Kiku, it was contained in his effeminate face, the way he moved, his unyielding resolve. Yao was burning with a fiery passion Kiku couldn't match, and that was why Ivan thought of him to be so beautiful. For these two to love the other was completing what the other lacked. They were Yin and Yang, but Ivan refused to admit it.

"Have you seen my country, Russia-san? My people are suffering as yours once did. They work as if the samurai and shogun still rule, never questioning those superior to them. They understand nothing but the suffering they endure. Theirs is a filial duty to the emperor that was absent in your country," Kiku tried explaining, trying to divert Russia's attention away from his bruised and nipped neck, which he was starting to close in upon…

"If they are content with serving their, and your, ruler than why must I be concerned?" Russia questioned, lifting his eyes to Kiku's for a moment. "My people had a genuine disgust for the tsar who pushed them to continue a war that was killing our prosperity and murdering our sons."

"Then I fear the same will happen to me and my countrymen," Kiku replied, eyes low, brimming with resolve. Russia let go of his hands, but instead barred him to the wall, closer.

Ivan felt his heart squeeze with compassion. This is how he had been before the Revolution, before Communism entered into his life and transform him. The two of them, despite sharing such deep enmity, might have something in common. Here was small, small Japan, helpless to the world and defeated by someone he knew he could never defeat. For a country to have a dark side was rare enough, but it was unheard of for a country to have their dark half separate from the whole and become a physical manifestation. Never before had it been seen among any of the countries, not ever recorded in history. And by the ferocity of Dark Kiku, the bestiality unmatched by any living thing, it suggested that Kiku had been stifling the bastard beneath a will stronger than many, until this other side to him had perhaps consumed half of Kiku's soul and manifested by gathering earthy material necessary of such a feat, like a starfish whose limb grows an entirely new body.

"You are so fragile, Kiku," Russia breathed, feeling a sudden wave of sympathy for the boyish nation, something that in the past would never have existed. Wasn't there more than one situation where when he had wanted to kill this country?

"No, I'm just less human than you are. You think me some exotic treasure, or an enemy. What happened to your vows to kill me?" Kiku asked, turning his head away and looking to the ground to the other side of Russia's arm. He wanted to escape this prison, but violence would be disrespectful, and against his purest levels of mannerisms.

It was Yao who was before him; a relation to Yao. If he were to love this one, the closer he'd be to the whole. He snickered mentally; these two Asians could be as "fun" as the three Baltics.

The years had changed him; Communism had changed him. Could he continue to be the brute he was famous for?

"Very well, I'll pass on to you the secrets of Communism," he said, gently petting Kiku's hair, garnering a questioning gaze from the nation, "in exchange for your body." Those last words struck like a death knell, reverberating through his mind like an announcement of death.

"Perhaps there's something else—" Kiku tried to negotiate, terrified at the thought of pillowing with Russia, even if the emotion wasn't there.

"There's nothing else," Ivan retorted hastily, letting his finger tease down the length of Kiku's neck, rubbing his jutting collarbone, brushing past his shoulder blades, threatening to swoop lower. His gaze was soft and seductive. He needed what Yao had been denying him for four years, the very thing he'd grown accustomed to with Estonia and Lithuania, not yet with Latvia. Toris was very good in bed, but his appearance wasn't extremely pleasant to behold, for was too handsome to be viewed by him as submissive. And here before him was the most beautiful and effeminate of the nations in looks trying to bargain for the wisdom of his new government. How perfect it was; to bed with this beautiful boy, who was not quite a boy, would send him into throes of ecstasy.

Ivan let his lips swoop to Kiku's neck, making the boyish nation shudder terribly for that is where Dark Kiku always...started. He'd managed to keep his body "clean" since his inception ad wanted to keep it that way until the day...

...until the day...Yao...took him.

Kiku distinctly could feel the heated breath from Ivan's hooked nose, the moist yet callous feel of lips previously dry. Ivan placed the bars of his prison around Kiku's neck and lower waist, letting his lips run the length of Kiku's linear jaw line to his chin. Kiku grimaced, stiffening with fright. He couldn't think, couldn't act. He wanted so badly to run this man through with a sword…

_Yao's pleading face, almost asking him to acquiesce, for his liberty—for all of them._

There was no way in hell he could refuse the wishes of a brother who wasn't present. He loved Yao, and wanted so desperately for his freedom. He would play Russia's game against him.

Coiling his arms timidly around Russia's waist, he relaxed into the taller man's embrace. He craned his neck, making that desirable area more available to the sex-deprived Russian. Ivan gladly took the chance, kissing tenderly all the way to his shoulder blade. Japan decided now to make his move.

"If I pillow with you and become yours, would you release your holds on my brother's land?" he questioned, adding squirts of irresistible sensuality into his voice. Russia's one visible eye darted to Kiku's, who smirked with sexy charm. Kiku expertly moved his hands to Russia's hips, running his fingers with feather-light feeling, which would make Russia beg for more if he played his cards right.

"And if I say no?" Russia asked, moving to nip one of Kiku's ears, ebony mixing with opalescent cream. Kiku shivered in reaction, clamping his mouth shut lest Russia trump him…in that way.

"Then I became my other half's slave and your plan to win back my brother fails," Kiku said with a mild threat, voicing it like a suggestion. He daringly began to unbutton Russia's coat which, satisfyingly, was bare of any undergarments like a shirt. His own shirt was now slung around his shoulders like a shawl draped over his arms, sleeves askew like an overgrown garment.

Russia trembled as well, flinching with static running throughout his body. He knew how much a sex addict Imperial Japan was and wondered if he'd influenced little Kiku. No matter, it was better than having a complete newcomer completely ruin the experience, despite Kiku's being a virgin.

"Fine," Russia groaned as Kiku encouraged the coat to finally slip off his shoulders. Kiku's hands found the knob and wound it open, flinging them both inside. Despite it being dark, the pale luminescence shrouding the crimson curtains provided ample light for their endeavor.

Russia was surprised but enthralled, a heat warming his body that hadn't in almost a decade, what with him losing interest in the Baltics, despite Lithuania's frequent beddings with him. Lithuania had been his favorite for awhile, but upon hearing the news of Japan's isolation hundreds of years ago and of the nation's widely known virginity, something arose within Russia that wanted to spoil such innocence with his mark, any mark. That interest had grown until China had piqued his interest and seized his affections. But, in all of the years they had known each other, not once had they pillowed together.

Kiku quietly led him by the hips until they bumped into the edges of a table, a great desk with paper strewn all about. Russia inwardly snickered; they were in his study.

Ivan encouraged Kiku to lean back until he was forced into hopping on the table to sit, and he himself climbed upon it, not disturbing their position. Kiku slowly leaned back until his head rested upon the desk, Russia hastily shoving fountain pens and papers aside. Kiku returned to grasp Russia around the neck, pulling him inexorably close.

"Tell me, Kiku, do you still love China?" came Russia's query, gently kissing Kiku's neck, wrapping his arms around Kiku's hips. He cursed this place for its lack of a bed. Although, doing it on his desk was much hotter and sexier; tantalizing.

"He's my brother," Kiku supplicated enigmatically, refusing to give him a direct answer.

"Why do you want me to release my hold over parts of his land?" Russia challenged, hiding it with a kiss to the boy's soft cheek. Pearls of sweat were beginning to mar Kiku's face; he could feel the heat radiating from the boy's body.

"Because, he's more use to you whole than in parts. Releasing the land would encourage less enmity his people already bear towards all foreigners," Kiku said shakily, trying to hide his true voice. Russia moved the longer bangs from Kiku's eyes, pinning him with an enigmatic stare of his own.

"Your diplomatic talk bores me," Russia crooned, once again in heat. Kiku seemed to agree, raising himself up enough to press his lips to Russia's, his body reviling every second of it, his arms now wrapped around the thick, muscular neck. This man stank of vodka, and he could taste it in the Russian's breath.

Not simply satisfied by such a weak kiss, Russia pried the boy's mouth open with his tongue, letting it snake inside the moist cavern to coil around the smaller snake inside that tasted of cherry blossoms. He jammed their mouths so close together he heard a slashing cough emit from Kiku, shaking the nation's body. However, despite Kiku's welling disgust, he forced himself to endure it.

Russia decided to break the kiss, rising off the table. Kiku wasn't ready to go all of the way just yet, and he had pressing matters to attend to, remembering meeting that was supposed to have been taking place. He reached a hand out to the downed Japan who took it meekly, pulling the small nation into his arms, breathing in the innocence of his scent, wanting, lusting, more than ever to destroy it. Kiku stiffened when Russia licked that Japanese nation's lips, trying hold back nausea.

"I promise to keep my end of the bargain if you and your brother will bed with me once this sordid affair is over," he said with a honeyed voice, sweeping his lips past Kiku's like a kiss of snowflakes. His large hands rested on Kiku's hips, his head nestled between the crux of Kiku's neck and shoulder. Kiku responded by absently petting the Russian's head.

Quickly leaving each other to change into their respective suits, both left to partake in the meeting that had been stalled for over an hour. Kiku had trembled slightly when he'd heard the news; thinking of his beloved Yao-ge throughout the meeting, he hung his head in shame throughout the duration of the meeting, ignoring the suggestive glances Russia cast his way throughout the whole duration of the meeting.

* * *

Holding your hand I walked helplessly through the chaotic fireblades.  
There you were attacked by the virulent claws of time.

How worthy is such a civilization at all,  
which is built from deceptions?  
I'm crying and looking for an answer,  
which cannot be found yet.

* * *

Last thoughts: Sorry for being a butthead and keeping you waiting for a MONTH just for one chapter. As a little treat, I re-wrote parts of "Red October, Dead November." Do you remember when Yao shot those two men and then Ivan shot the children? Reading it, it felt shallow and unprovoked so I redid those scenes to flow better and evoke feelings within the characters which would be more realistic than senseless murder. Feel free to read it again, or just those parts I mentioned. Just to get you excited…there's smut.

History: "The JCP was founded on July 15, 1922, as an underground political association. Outlawed at once under the Peace Preservation Law, the JCP was subjected to repression and persecution by the military and police of Imperial Japan. It was the only political party in Japan that opposed Japan's involvement in World War II. The party was legalized during the U.S. occupation of Japan in 1945, and since then has been a legal political party able to contest elections. In 1949 the party made unprecedented gains. It won 10 percent of the vote and sent 35 representatives to the Diet. But early in 1950, the Soviet Union sharply criticized the JCP's parliamentary strategy. Stalin insisted that the JCP pursue more militant, even violent, actions. SCAP seized this occasion to engineer the Red Purge, which forced the party leaders underground. Then, after the Korean War broke out, the party staged some acts of terrorism or sabotage. This resulted in a loss of popular confidence. Through the end of the decade it never won more than 3 percent of the votes or two seats in the Diet. Even so, its strong support among many intellectuals gave it a relatively greater importance than these numbers suggest."

-From Wikipedia

To me, it seems highly redeemable for Japan to have a Communist Party that was against their more Imperialistic aspects. To me, this seems to smooth down the demonization many thought of Japan at the time, which was a country that was highly reliant on militarism, murder, policing, as well as brutal colonization and suppress of human rights. As you'll see in later chapters, they openly opposed the Second Sino-Japanese War and called for all of Japan's peasantry to oppose their fascist government. The most memorable line of the "1932 These Approved by the Communist International" was a slogan: "Support the Soviet Union and the Chinese Revolution." This is why Russia wants Japan and China in the first place; what he can't have in land he'll share in government. Also, the underground Communist movement to me suggests rebelliousness in Kiku, prompting me to change his image a few chapters ago. …Plus, such intimacy in politics meant there had to be a little sleaze…this IS Hetalia, after all.

Durr…lyrics are from "Raven Loud Speeeeaker" by Nightmare.

To everyone who is reading this still, many thanks for you!

As always, review, review, review!


	27. Wave to the World of Never GoodBye, мои

_Shall we sing of pop's senses, my darling?  
The whole world, before my eyes turned around  
My heart made a sound like a sick little starling  
Oh, not yet, I just can't forget you, ah!_

_Oh, the scenery from this angle is lovely  
What will happen to all these beautiful views?  
Since not a single thing will change, definitely  
Will you keep seeking something you can use?_

_

* * *

_

After the first meeting of Third Communist International, one of many for that particular month, had finally concluded. There were many speakers at the event, mainly those of the Communist founding class. Kiku's mind swirled and speculated at their gracious yet passionate words, scribing every important detail to the barest minimum. The meeting, after the coincidently hour long stall, lasted for several hours and strove to address those who sought to found Communist parties in their home countries or to bolster premature ones with the knowledge necessary to succeed. Kiku belonged to the latter half, sent on the orders of the infantile Communist Party in his own country in hopes of rising through the ranks like Russia and China were beginning to do. The policing heavily implemented by Dark Kiku made it impossible for their actions to be made public without blunt retaliation. The police beat away their efforts like a harsh wind ripping away autumn leaves.

Kiku kept his head lowered, feeling the anxious gaze of someone in the room. His heart began to burn in fear and guilt, abnormally stifled because of his emotionless state, eyes lifting and roving around the massive delegation of men surrounding the enormous table. They seemed to travel endlessly until they rested, transfixed, on another pair of eyes identical to his own.

Everything, time, heartbeats, speech, froze. Only his heartbeat could be felt pounding up his throat, feeling what emotions couldn't.

Yao.

The older nation was also dressed in a starched suit, oppressively repressing the natural grace he bore upon himself whenever in his traditional clothing. The world began blurring into a narrow tunnel of vision; restricting it to this man he hadn't seen in almost a decade. All noise became cancelled out and his hands became clammy, but he knew his expression must have contained to composure of a gaping fish. Everything became blank for what felt like the longest of hours. Seeing Yao reminded him of the decay of their promise; of how he was now the newest lover of the enemy.

Wang Yao, the focus of his long-held obsession. It was like his older brother was a precious gemstone that he wanted covetously, wanting to submerge it in the waters of his heart and let the light of his love to combine and create a beautiful spectacle of light, surrounded by the hollows of his memories. This man was his sanctuary and dearest treasure; the one he loved for all reasons.

And yet for his own, selfish desire, he was immersing himself in the waters of betrayal and lies. He was Ivan's, and if Ivan was adamant to his word, he had now condemned his brother to servitude to Ivan of the worst kind. He had lied throughout their tryst, but he had betrayed Yao most of all to the man both hated. There would be no forgiving that, even if his intention had been to free Yao. And most nations wouldn't dream of relinquishing land without waging in fierce battle. All nations served the masters of opportunity and power.

What would Yao think of his selling his body for a promise that wouldn't be fulfilled? He couldn't even answer his own question.

Kiku waged a war of wills with himself, each side violently capsizing and flipping between speaking with his brother or avoiding him at all costs. He decided on the latter.

At the meetings end, Kiku amazingly having scrawled notes without realizing it, he searched the room. He caught a far-off glimpse of Russia beckoning to him, pretending to ignore Yao's pleasantly surprised look. The older Asian nation called out his name loudly above the murmur of multilingual men, Kiku ignoring him and proceeding to Russia, training his expression to one of detached distances. He kept his walk rigid and formal, disappearing beneath waves of tall heads and shoulders, though his heart yearned to answer Yao's sweet voice. He wanted to run to his brother and vehemently embrace him, but he couldn't summon an inkling of emotion to attach to such a happy instance. His face remained cool and straightforward; men letting him pass, believing he was a young man of ill intent.

At the far end of the room, Russia waited in an entryway where none of the other delegates were leaving from. Kiku walked with lengthened strides, flowing effortlessly. Ivan ushered him down the hall, now well-lit, guiding him into the study they had previously occupied. Upon entrance, Kiku could see it wasn't much different from his one at home. Heavy tomes of military and historical literature, a compendium of all Russian history, lined dark bookcases that reached to the ceiling. A heavy and ornate wood desk lacquered chestnut sat before a large mantle, a large leather chair behind that. There were a few other rich furnishings meant for sitting to official attendance, but apart from that, it wasn't much different from ones Kiku had encountered before. They clomped together into the room on warmly veneered floors, Kiku taking notice of a roaring grizzly head stuffed, mounted above the high mantelpiece. How appropriate this all was for Ivan.

He could also see the scene of their earlier crime still intact; papers were messily shoved aside and otherwise looked disheveled. He waited patiently as Russia tossed several heavy logs into the fireplace, settling a few shreds of old newspapers as tinder before lighting them all with a match, a warm blaze crackling before long. Russia moved to quietly close the door, leaving only the keyhole should anyone try to peep through the tiny increment, walking then towards Kiku.

Kiku never objected as Ivan took him by the shoulders and planted a small kiss upon his lips. Those burly arms moved to his waist and neck, the kiss deepening.

"You shall still keep your end of the bargain, da?" Russia began to unbutton Kiku's coat, but before he could proceed any further, he found his hand wrapped in a vice. Russia's eyes darkened considerably, taking Kiku's vice as an affront to their deal.

"How do you know Dark Kiku won't barge in here, take me, and apprehend you?" Kiku asked with an icy chill in his eyes, apprehensive. Russia quelled his anger and understood Kiku's concern, the scars on his chest throbbing painfully.

"Why would he be interested in you? He is more concerned with making himself stronger, da?" Russia soothed, making Kiku relax slightly. As much as he truly hated this man, their shared hatred of Dark Kiku easily surmounted that divide, giving them something to understand in each other.

Ivan stroked Kiku's cheek, reminding him. Japan daringly leaned upwards, dragging Russia down by the tails of his soft scarf. Their lips touched again, Kiku pressing against Russia's lips with more urgency. He walked backwards and guided the taller man to the couch, tugging Russia downwards with a vigorous force. Russia eased himself onto the couch and hovered over Kiku on all fours, his shadow consuming the tiny nation. Kiku stared up at him fearlessly and without registering any discernable emotion in his eyes.

"You'd best keep your deal or I'm going back to Japan for good," Kiku warned in a low-toned threat. Russia smiled, enjoying Kiku's emotional ferocity. He began to slowly unbutton Kiku's suit coat, the island nation returning the favor with Russia's. Their eyes were coldly transfixed to the others, fascinated and distant. Japan was becoming impatient and seized Russia's neck, using the other hand to shed his dress shirt with amazingly inhuman speed. Russia gave a bewildered gasp of unbecoming shock as Japan crashed their lips together, amazed at his partner's sudden shift in disposition. He did like it very much, however; when he was still close to China the Asian nation always claimed the role of the uke.

Russia could only nod in reply as he became absorbed in the sweet subterfuge of emotion and heat. He felt a heat of magnificent radiance permeate throughout his body, deliciously warm. Kiku began leaning forward slightly, muscles tense as he held his position against Russia, resisting as strongly as possible under Ivan's massive weight. Russia took the ferocious lead and sent Kiku to the couch, so fluffy and perfect for this, the smaller nation finally submitting. He began to sharply nip Japan's neck, delighting in his cries of sweet pain. His gloveless fingers touched every centimeter of skin on the boy's exposed body, all the down to his hips. Kiku maintained a degree of control by keeping Russia from removing his pants, whispering in the sexiest Russian he'd ever heard to "calm down." He could barely contain himself, this boy was so addictive. Not even his first time with Toris had been this passionate or compelling.

Kiku began kissing and nipping Ivan's neck, biting as hard as he could out of spite for the Russian, pouring in hate to every action. Ivan's dignity, his clothing, was almost gone. His scarf, like his will, was easily tugged down to expose veins of this nation's lifeblood. Kiku bit as hard as he could, disguising his true emotions with subtle kisses and false promises. Never in the thousand years he'd been tortured by his darker half had Kiku exuded so many qualities like the one he hated most. The kind façade he expressed towards acquaintances and friends was no match for the deep-lying hatred that seemed to be always within reach of his heart. In losing his emotions, Kiku was starting to gain from Dark Kiku hate and a powerful desire for revenge against those who wronged himself and his family. Before his family and friends such feelings subsided and faded, but before enemies and threats he was ruthless and his odium knew no bounds. He brought himself back to the days of World War I and remembered how many he'd killed; how many Westerners had died by his hand, women and men indiscriminately sent to Death's hollow lands. In love, too, he could show the world his power and loathing, just as Dark Kiku did.

Ivan groaned and shrieked at some times, overtaken by Kiku's power. Kiku forcibly topped Ivan, straddling him with a heartless glare in his eyes, no triumphant smile becoming his face; such feelings were gone to him. Only an Arctic fury could be found beneath, his eyes continually getting colder. He kissed and nipped aggressively with ferality about his eyes. Ivan was beginning to breathe and blush heavily, his throat dry and ravaged by speechlessness, burning with the heat of a thousand candles pressed to his skin. Kiku was completely merciless, a dominant side to him coming about that hadn't been there before.

"J-Japan-!" Russia gasped hotly, gripping Kiku with needy want as the boy began licking where he'd nipped, making his neck burn with undeniable pleasure. Kiku began pinching Russia's chest with his teeth and lips, remedying his harsh nips with a following of a soft kiss. Russia was in unbelievable ecstasy, his heart leaping and throttling with erratic beat. His breath hitched and sighed as Kiku continued to dominate, possessing Russia as if he weren't the most violent and bloody nation in the world.

"You like blood, don't you?" Kiku asked, tracing his finger down the meandering scar Dark Kiku had bequeathed to him years earlier. When Russia simply nodded, Kiku bit the tip of his thumb and began to draw blood. He smeared a generous amount of it on his tongue and crashed their lips together, tongue probing into Ivan's mouth. Ivan reluctantly accepted Kiku, tasting the iron intensity of blood, a romantic practice never before tried upon him. He began to revel in it, remembering how much he truly loved bloodshed.

Kiku closed the distance between their mouths, deepening the kiss until Russia began coughing and choking for air. Japan obligingly released Ivan, resting his head uneasily on Ivan's chest, immediately reminding him of earlier. Japan was indeed a curious nation. If anything, Kiku had taken what Russia had done to him and modified it in a way Russia loved. Kiku was indeed a very intelligent young lover.

Absently he petted Kiku's hair as they settled down, unable to admit that Kiku had trumped him perfectly. All he needed to do now was reclaim Yao and teach him to do the same.

"You aren't going to release China's lands, are you?" Kiku asked out of the blue, surprising Ivan. Ivan tried looking at Kiku, but the island nation turned his head away.

"You know I can't," Russia defended. "We have near to no power, remember?" Russia tried to prop himself on his elbows but tiny Kiku kept him pinned to the couch. How this small vessel contained so much strength made Russia wonder as to the extent of Kiku's real power. He tried a sweeter method of persuasion, coaxing Kiku gently. Ivan tried again, holding Kiku in his arms and lifting himself using his strong back. Kiku didn't resist this time and relaxed into Russia's arms, permitting himself to do so for once, sinking further into betrayal. Russia was glad slightly by this, thinking he could earn Kiku's trust to further advance his plan.

Holding his hands to Ivan's chest like a small child, Kiku looked at Russia plainly, then lowering his head again. "I apologize. My true purpose was to gain the foundations and more of Communism from you, not to negotiate land possessions." Russia sighed at his comrade's apology, reminding himself that the deal created was made purely in heat, a time of irrationality.

"That's quite alright, comrade. Neither of us was thinking rationally, da?" Ivan said, smiling and laughing slightly, holding Kiku with slight amounts of glee. With Japan and China, among many other countries, making the change to Communism, they would someday become one. Perhaps not through borders but rather through a common and wholly attainable ideal; places where workers and poorest were liberated and shared everything in society. A government of the people without the corruption of capitalist countries and the greed of a corrupt government.

Kiku simply shifted slightly, nestling into Russia's arms to sleep, finding himself completely exhausted, plagued from sleepless nights and an overbearing presence.

A knock came to the door, unheeded by the sleepy companions. Russia thought it to be a guard or a secretary of some sort, Kiku thinking the same. Though the Japanese nation held manners in the highest regard, he cast them aside in favor of succumbing to sleep, too exhausted to think properly. He was surprised by how tired he was, reflecting on the years of turmoil, war, studying, and training. He managed to repress it for so long, but he couldn't any longer, drifting…

"_Jao_?" came Russia's surprised voice, slightly panicked. Hastily he gathered himself in embarrassment, Kiku leaping to his feet with similar impetus. Kiku hastily began changing into his clothing with a reserved and emotionless front, disregarding Yao's painful stares. He pretended to be cool and collected, but his insides burned with an unpleasant brand, searing against him. A red-hot anger consumed the room, and Kiku's eyes followed it to the source.

"K-K-Kiku-d-di?" came the wavering tremble of Yao's voice. Kiku focused on Yao's face, seeing the struggle between tears and pride, the quivering brow, the beads of tears forming at the corners of his honeyed eyes, the reticent feelings urging for release. Kiku turned to face his brother fully, buttoning the last button of his suit coat with a face blank and stoic. Kami curse the one who stole his emotions from him!

"Yao-ge," Kiku whispered, face trying to form pitiful excuses of remorse, tried and failing. Yao said nothing more, holding his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as he tried to force back tears.

"Why, Kiku-di?" he struggled, voice rising. "Why?"

Yao rushed forward to seize the lapels of Kiku's coat in an impossible vice, eyes filled with a furious sadness, hands steel clamps shaking in anger. Sobs shook his grip, Yao faltering and regaining like the passing of the tides, strength ebbing and flowing with his emotions. Russia took a step back, swiftly leaving the room in an attempt to deviate from the irate Chinese man, successfully escaping the older Asian's attentions.

Ivan fully ignored, Yao lost himself.

"What the hell are you doing? What's become of you, Kiku-di?" Yao practically screamed, but failed to make Kiku even flinch. Kiku leveled his eyes, face deadpan and cold.

"I've simply been following in your footsteps. You're not the only Asian nation in the world who wishes to unite under the red flag of communism, my foolish brother. I requested to learn this liberating doctrine to free my people personally from Russia-san and this was his asking price. A very cheap one, if I say so myself. You gave your heart to him to learn it as well so don't you dare reprimand me," Kiku said harshly, tone one of high command, speaking Chinese of high formality. He removed his brother's hands from his suit and distanced himself from China.

"What about the events of so many years ago, Kiku-di? You hated him so much, you fought to defend me from him, and now you'll give yourself so easily to learn this?" Yao choked, wiping away the flow of tears from his face with the cuff of his sleeve. Kiku only gave him a blank, emotionless gaze, driving Yao internally insane. What had become of the feeling, protective brother from then? Why was this happening?

"You did love him at one point, didn't you? Even if it felt wrong, the feelings were still there. You wound me, Gege. You must be made to understand that a heart can change even in a day. I'm not the same person I was yesterday."

"What is that, some dumb Western philosophy? What is it about you that has changed, didi? Have you given in so easily to the whims of your bastardized other half, or do you plan to worship him, too?" Yao spat, glaring at Kiku with eyes that didn't penetrate the least.

"It is one all humans inherently know, Gege. I've come to see that in order to free my people, and you, I must surrender myself to reality. I'll do what I can to resist Hei Riben's machinations of war and expansion, as well as protecting you." These last words seemed to ease Yao's fury the slightest, but it was still there, however strong Kiku perceived it to be.

"Kiku-di, why are you so emotionless? What happened?" Yao said, chest shakily exhaling from the tears. He walked over to Kiku, putting a hand to his cheek, which Kiku gladly supported with one of his own, closing his eyes and melting into the warmth of his beloved's gesture.

"Hei Riben has stolen my emotions, Yao-ge. Our connection is rather deep to the point of his becoming a parasite, extracting what he can from my being. He steals energy, emotion, and my resolve. I feel rather empty, you see. The only place I find restitution is on the battlefield or in studying, where no one need depend on me. I have singular motives and objectives that ease the load of my stone-cold heart," Kiku said. He took Yao's hand and held it to his heart, serving as an example. Yao could feel the expected palpitations, but they felt sluggish and strained, his body heat barely felt through his clothing. Even in the warm room Kiku was shivering.

"I have to do what I can to gain power to fight him, Yao-ge. It's not as simple as you think, and we also have our family to think about. I will apologize now if anything I do offends you, but none of this I do for myself. Even the tryst between Russia-san and me is done for heartless reasons. I'm a heartless demon, Yao-ge. I'm no longer the sweet, young boy you knew in our past," Kiku said softly, gazing at the never-healing scars of his fingers, their meaning ablaze within his mind. It was a wonder Dark Kiku wasn't here trying to kill Ivan, or Yao for that matter.

"I know that, Kiku-di. But, does that mean you'll no longer revert to the one I knew best? Must we always be strangers?" Yao questioned, affectionately petting the lustrous black of his hair. He pained him to see Kiku do this to himself, but he still felt angry at his younger brother's actions. He still couldn't forgive Kiku for what he'd done with Russia and no amount of soft and reassuring smiles could remedy it.

"You're still angry at me," came Kiku's sibilate. Yao's hand was removed by Kiku's, the younger nation looking away into nothingness. Yao furrowed his brows and frowned; Kiku was right on the mark. He took Kiku's hand and held it firmly; he wasn't going to let Kiku escape should the younger nation feel cornered and a need to escape.

"Yes, I am, Kiku-di," Yao murmured in the low tones of a growling predator. Kiku looked at him with eyes cracked with ice and psycho mania, the only term acceptable for his current condition.

Kiku looked away, his heart empty and callous, his mind readily anticipating with cool calculations. The broken rise of his older brother's voice was a dead giveaway to his emotion; every breath, word, and action told Kiku everything he needed to know to defend himself. So this was what it felt like to be in the company of dehumanization and allied to calculation.

"Why are you angry at me? I did tell you my reasons, which I believe are justified," Kiku queried, the streamline of his focus wholly analytical and in complete disregard to his brother's emotions. He truly was a machine, so much like Dark Japan who was now feeling the emotion he longed for so much.

Yao glared at Kiku, all reason and understanding dissipating like the mists of a waterfall. He seized Kiku's arm this time, receiving Kiku's predatory eyes in return. His emotions were at a thin trickle, the sands of time nearly gone from him forever. Yao was deeply unsettled and upset by this, feeling a fear never known to him rise deep within and constrict his chest and lungs and heart.

Brusquely, before Kiku could even _calculate _it, he was shoved to the floor with the force of a wailing typhoon, China hovering over him on all fours. Yao's eyes were clenched in shadow, his mouth forming words that were impossible to be spoken.

"You can feel nothing. Is that really true? I can't comprehend you, Kiku! Would you object if I had my way with you?" Yao choked through frustrated tears, one hand moving to unbutton Kiku's coat. The desperation he felt long ago when Kiku had visited after the war, seeing his brother so emotionless, made him so desperate to him as human, as the child he wanted back, the boy he loved so much!

His little brother, the one most precious one, reacted in no way. Yao pushed forward in desperation, gently stripping Kiku of his coat and dress shirt, so tame and calm compared to Russia. His lips were soft and tender as he kissed Kiku's cheeks, both, tongue licking along the length of his jaw. His hands expertly touched Kiku's chest in places he knew would usually elicit some kind of reaction. Kiku whimpered softly, but it was entirely involuntary, without his own volition.

"Yao-ge…" Kiku whispered, his voice dead and floating downwards like an autumn leaf. Yao searched Kiku's eyes for any signs of life; a spark, a glinting light. His eyes were consuming as black holes, chilling Yao with memories of Hei Riben. He became mercilessly persistent, adamant in awakening Kiku's humanity…even if it meant going all the way.

Kiku grabbed Yao's hair, trying to pull him away. He didn't want to hurt his brother, but most of all his hunger of that type was completely dead, unlike Yao. Yao growled and pulled forward, undoing his hair tie, hair cascading around him with an ancient kind of beauty, like a peony in full bloom. Yao hadn't let his hair down in the longest of times, seeming almost like a release, a tenacity spilling forth combined with his newly awakened passion. He felt dead with no energy, unable to resist. What was happening to him?

Released, Yao began roving his lips over Kiku's neck, nipping with such sexy precision it easily trumped Ivan's, new and bolder hickeys overlapping Ivan's. A hungry snarl escaped from his lips, and he attacked again, Kiku completely defenseless. Kiku tried prying himself from Yao's grasp, only to be pinned down by fierce opposition. He made way towards the couch, feeling like a mouse trying to escape to engulfing claws of the tiger. Yao's disheveled appearance reflected his newly awakened sensuality roaring fully and without end. Kiku's heart began beating as he inched away from Yao's fierce eyes and rich growls fueling his now indomitable energy.

Yao began hissing in the fastest rush of Chinese possible, eyeing Kiku with an uncontrollable lust. He lunged, Kiku trapped against the lower frame of the couch, still on the floor. Yao's lips came again to Kiku's chest, kissing impossibly fast, burning like cauterized metals. Kiku's skin itched and burned whenever Yao drew away, his body unpleasantly burning and sweating. Yao held him with excruciating force, his heat intense and unbearably painful. As Kiku craned his neck and head away from Yao, sweating and breathing heavily, much to China's pleasure, Yao nipped and kissed at his throat. The older Asian savored the rush of blood he felt through his lips, licking and marking and _feeling. _He never realized how bestial he truly was, holding himself back for thousands of years, being a gentleman with of his lovers, submissive and severely held back. And now it rushed to him now with uncontrollable fervor. A dignified discussion had turned into this. Still unsated, be tried nibbling Kiku's collar bone, dipping below that with an almost carnivorous delight. Kiku continued to whimper and gasp sharply, sounding to Yao like a nightingale's song, beautiful and desperately fleeting.

"Do you want me to stop?" Yao asked with a sadistic chuckle in his voice, exalted from this experience. Before Kiku could reply, he took one of Kiku's hands and began licking up the length of Kiku's arm with an incredibly bestial desire. Kiku could feel primal fear rise within him, threatening to overwhelm. Dark Kiku couldn't steal all of his emotions, could he?

"Yao-ge, please stop!" Kiku protested shrilly, only to be smothered by Yao's cruel lips. Tears built up in Kiku's eyes, sadness and fear, a violent compliment of the other.

This wasn't his Yao-ge anymore. Yao-ge was consumed by someone else, and here was the replacement shrouded in a heavy cloak of darkness.

Kiku screamed, shoving Yao away with a fearful hand. Kiku bolted upright and sprinted from the room, hurrying to repair the damage done to his dignity and trust. He ran headlong down the hall with blank reason, wishing for the emotionless void and not these terrible feelings.

Russia caught the tearful nation in his arms, crashed into by the adorable boy. By his condition, Russia deduced that something terrible had happened between the two Asians.

"What has happened to you, мой очень домашним животным?" Russia asked concernedly, leaning downwards to assess the boy like a parent would there small child. Kiku was trembling and shaking like a leaf.

"Y-Yao-g-ge…h-he…!" Kiku choked, unable to say anything more. Sobbing, he let the rest of cool exterior crumble away, embracing Russia tightly, wishing to become frozen. Ivan silently stood in shock, surprise, until he quickly embraced the boy in a sanctuary of comfort. He whispered things in soothing Russian, trying to stifle a rising smirk. He rested his head of the crown of Kiku's, further enclosing him. A dark aura covered the silver-haired man, his mind swirling with devious intent.

At this rate, Kiku would become his doll very quickly, and Yao would follow suit, whether or not the boy wanted to see his older brother again. Everything was falling into pace with such amazing speed that Ivan wondered if he'd be this successful in the future.

He stroked Kiku's hair, soothing the distraught young nation.

Soon, the world would be his; the world that he longed to rule, of course.

* * *

_Embarrassed as well as outraged, you said  
Eyes are still downcast and smiling, I said  
Those kinds of things are less fun than being dead!_

_We'd just disappear with a poof and a hurrah  
So let's leave it all behind tomorrow  
As we spin around, I say "aha!"  
Because the turning world down below—_

_

* * *

_

Last Thoughts: Yao was really scary this chapter! I guess I was tired of the same old thing, what with Yao always portrayed as a harmless little uke. I like to break convention, even if it means making characters OOC, as long as it's temporary. You what's coming up very soon? The WWII ark! Wow, I am glad for this. I might have a few more chapters on the aftermath in China and Russia, such as some tidbits on the Kuomintang and Communist Party's mission to unify China. From this point on, Kiku and Yao will be really distant until WW2 when they'll encounter each other a lot more often.

History: "Writings from the Third Congress, held in June-July 1921, talked about how the struggle could be transformed into "civil war" when the circumstances were favorable and "openly revolutionary uprisings".[13] The Fourth Congress, November 1922, at which Leon Trotsky played a prominent role, continued in this vein.[14]During this early period, known as the "First Period" in Comintern history, with the Bolshevik revolution under attack in the Russian Civil War and a wave of revolutions across Europe, the Comintern's priority was exporting the October Revolution. Some Communist Parties had secret military wings. On example is the M-Apparat of the Communist Party of Germany. Its purpose was to prepare for the civil war the Communists believed was impending in Germany, and to liquidate opponents and informers who might have infiltrated the party. There was also a paramilitary organization, the Rotfrontkämpferbund.[15]The Comintern was involved in the revolutions across Europe in this period, starting with the Hungarian Soviet Republic in 1919. Several hundred agitators and financial aid were sent from the Soviet Union and Lenin was in regular contact with its leader, Béla Kun. Soon an official "Terror Group of the Revolutionary Council of the Government" was formed, unofficially known as "Lenin Boys".[16] The next attempt was the "March Action" in Germany in 1921, including an attempt to dynamite the express train from Halle to Leipzig. After this failed, the Communist Party of Germany expelled its former Chairman, Paul Levi, from the party for publicly criticising the March Action in a pamphlet[17], which was ratified by the ECCI prior to the 3rd congress[18]. A new attempt was made at the time of the Ruhr Crisis in spring and then again in selected parts of Germany in the autumn of 1923. The Red Army was mobilized, ready to come to the aid of the planned insurrection. Resolute action by the German government cancelled the plans, except due to miscommunication in Hamburg, where 200-300 Communists attacked police stations but were quickly defeated.[19] In 1924 there was a failed coup in Estonia by the Estonian Communist Party.[20]In 1924, the Mongolian People's Revolutionary Party joined Comintern.[21] At first, in China both the Chinese Communist Party and the Kuomintang were supported. After the definite break with Chiang Kai-shek in 1927, Stalin sent personal emissaries to help organize revolts which at this time failed." (- Comintern info, btw.)

I completely bullshitted this chapter. Sorry if it's really screwy and shitty, but all writers go through this, ya know. Just be easy on me and I'll get back on track, I promise! The next chapter shall be better, I promise!

Lyrics are from "World's End Dance Hall," sung by Megurine Luka and Hatsune Miku, by wowaka-P.

As always, review, review, review!


	28. The Windswept Haze of Endless Days

_Even in the midst of flowing time, I feel languid, look, spinning around and around.  
I can't even see the heart that's leaving me, didn't you know?_

_I can't even get myself to move, I continue to be washed down the cracks of time.  
I don't know anything about what's around me, I'm just me and no more._

_Am I dreaming? Or seeing nothing? My words are useless even if I speak.  
I'm just tired of being sad, I should go on without feeling anything._

_Is there a future for someone like me? Will I still exist in a world like this?  
Is this painful? Is it sad? Not even knowing myself._

* * *

Tsukiyomi had decided to descend in brilliance upon the nightscape of Japan, illuminating the silhouettes of slim boughs in their coves and forests, innocent buds of leaves splaying forth in inspiring displays. The whisper of the wind was mild and gentle, caressing the cheeks of a sleepless nation, inundated with the passage of the March (on). Japan was leaning against a post of his traditionally styled home, eyes cloaked in insomnia and persistent worry, keeping him from sleep since the conclusion of the Comintern.

Kiku's fingers clutched the post for support, body immeasurably weak and fatigued. The red string that bound his fingers was tight, but the thin flight of red was delicate and wavering considerably (sever bond). His weak and tired eyes tried following the path of loose red, only to be purged of their effort from blurring fatigue that clouded his mind.

Tears welled up unexpectedly, Japan shocked as he felt the winnows of liquid flow down his cheeks like dams in release. The midnight stars shined like his tears, Kiku raising fingers to wipe away the incessant trails in vain (swipewipe). A choking cry escaped his throat, tears descending into depths of misery.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Kiku choked, feelings of remorse filling him. Who was he apologizing to? Who was the recipient of these tears? His mind was thoughtless and his reasoning succumbing to the catharsis. His face crumpled into a hot flush of tears and unyielding regret. He slumped to the ground, yielding like a common man before the emperor. Hands clutched his face and his breath gasped in struggle, an outrush of fleeting emotion finally finding purchase in his empty husk of a body (submit).

Another's sad prayers could be heard in the soft still life of the night. Kiku's head jerked upwards at the soft and almost indistinguishable sounds, only his heart breaking the concentration of his straining ears. He silenced himself completely, eyes enraptured as he watched an opaque silhouette manifest before him in the growing strength of light (moonbeams).

The gallant form of a man, aged yet noble bearings, appeared beneath the humbling boughs of Ai, the sakura in full bloom and floating around the solidifying figure with soft descent (endme).

"_Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto_," Kiku breathed with sudden intake, overwhelmed with emotion that hadn't been felt since seeing his mother more than twenty years before. He had no idea what to say next, the desire for emotional abandon filling him to the core (meltdown).

"_I pray not for the plight of one person, my son. I've heard and seen what has happened to you," _Tsukiyomi said with omniscience achingly akin to his mother's. "_For how many thousands of years must I watch the destruction Black Noise is bringing upon you and the world?" _Black Noise; Dark Kiku. How appropriate for one who constantly announces his presence, Kiku thought bitterly. After Kiku's first encounter with his other self over a thousand weary years ago, his mother had appeared to him, comforting the young nation when he had wandered into the night, despite fear for Dark Kiku's appearance (Houdini).

"You're very fortunate he can't reach you, father," Kiku said quietly, leaning against Ai, close to his father. He felt the restless shudder of Ai, a mother once again. She was his child, and he felt like his father probably did now (protect).

"_Even the moon cares for his child, no matter how far apart they may be," _Tsukiyomi replied softly, eyes watching the silent reverie of sleepless lights of the industrial city below. Wrapped in a gossamer glow and golden armor, Kiku felt more estranged from this deity, his own father, than he wished (submit).

"Why are you here?" Kiku said suddenly, like the strum of a harp's voice in a pin-silent chamber. No honorifics were used this time, and yet Kiku still felt twinges of regret. Ai trembled slightly, branches hustling up and down in slight breezes as if she were bowing (respect).

"_Is it not a father's nature to worry as to the condition of his son, even from a heavenly domain?" _came his father's remonstrance, piercing Kiku with eyes painfully aglow in creamy gold, making him long for a heaven beyond reach. Kiku's head lolled to the side slightly, trying to keep back another torrent of tears, gazing beyond to the desolate city below (star-gazing).

"Father, what should I do? I've done something terrible and hurt someone dear to me," Kiku said with an almost inaudible softness, cloaking his face further in self-imposed shadow. Tsukiyomi studied his son before returning his gaze among the stars (people-watching).

"_Perhaps you only think you hurt your 'brother'. Revolution is hardest upon a nation, especially one as old as China. Only his ten'nyo mother, Ancient China, can understand his son"._ That much was true, but he had no idea how much his brother's personality would be altered. Thinking of his own industrialization and Dark Kiku, maybe it wasn't so unbelievable. (How little I know.)

"Then how else can one explain his feelings towards me? I'm Dark Kiku to him now! He was so savage, father…and I can understand wholly as to why," Kiku took in a shaky breath.

"_What do you intend to do about it?" _

"I can fight. War is inevitable, father. Dark Kiku lusts for China's land, desires only to consume him mercilessly. We may have to fight as well."

"_My son, a swift blade and darts of thunder will not always resolve your despairs." _

"What else can I do? I'm powerless next to Black Noise's boundless evil," he replied, adjusting his use of Dark Kiku's new nickname. What a terrible realization this was, Kiku realized (fate's).

"_Was this issue not resting upon your relationship with China?"_

Yao-ge… The misery of tears began again, Kiku letting them fall uninhibited. What could he do? "Father, tell me what to do," Kiku pleaded, hopelessly lost amongst a mind mired in fog (English).

"_What was the cause of this dissent?"_

"There is a war raging within Yao-ge's land, father. I remember now." Kiku recalled, a descending memory filling him. China had told him, before the beginning of their failing ties, of how his government was set to revolutionize (puppet). How those gold eyes had shimmered with hope and vitality, however smothered it was beneath never ending waves of despair and hopelessness.

"This war, what will it entail? What if it leads to us fighting? Curse this improbable future," Kiku said softly, rolling his head against Ai's bark, fingers holding each other behind his back.

"_These wars will not be kind. The future cannot be conquered, but you can change how you deal with it," _Tsukiyomi offered.

"Then how? Tell me: if fighting is not the ultimate solution, then what is? You're a god, aren't you? Can't you tell me?"

"_I could only tell you the outcome of one path. Clairvoyance is not as simple as that."_

"Tell me, what can you see? Tell me what one of these paths could be." How ridiculous this was. Seeing into the future? Hadn't he given up superstition when America had convinced him to industrialize, that powerful, idiotic, _hopeful_ nation. Hope was something he didn't possess. For him there was only cold reality and consequences.

"_I see a great city burning, with much death. Women are being violated, men dying by the tens of thousands, and the streets run red with blood."_

Kiku guffawed dryly. "Is that not every war in history, father?"

"_This incident will be burned into the memory of the world. It will bring much pain and suffering to your 'brother.'" _

Kiku was overwhelmed with silence. Another war, more suffering, endless hatred; there was no ending it. "There's nothing I can do, can I?"

"_You can make a difference for many lives if you have hope."_

"How can hope be found in these dark times? It's gone; I have none. I'm sorry, but this is my reality. There will be more wars and hatred as long as humanity exists. My brother and I are fated to meet on the battlefield." This was it; the insight provided to him. "There is no other choice, I'm sure. Dark Kiku has been making noises lately about taking over Asia, like always." Promises for reunion were plenty, the bastard promised. He already has many in his snare and the largest prize was within his reach.

They were held in night's silence, unable to speak anymore, for the words were hard to grasp, impossible to voice emotionally (ventriloquist). Kiku folded his arms, eyes reddened and enormously tired, his father's stasis equal if not showing. The stars were winking with pitiful strength on that night, but the lights of the districts below were enticing and shining warmly, stars within closer reach. Ai held him with comfort, but not even her presence could soothe him tonight (no more).

Without warning, he stole away from his father's side. The deity wordlessly followed Kiku, his radiance defying the shushing reaches of the darkness (comeback). They walked in comparative silence, Tsukiyomi unquestioning.

Both immortals came to the forest-cloaked shed of the Koreas forced occupation. Guarded by day, it was impossible for Kiku to come within a _ri _of this place without being scolded or threatened by several, heavily armed guards. At night it was locked, still under surveillance, but Kiku disregarded that fact (reckless). With a superb level of silence he stole into the quant and disgusting hovel, stirring his brothers from the forever-troubled sleep (alarm clock).

"Kiku-erge?" South Korea started firstly, rising from a dusty sleep in one corner. North Korea was watching Kiku with silent contemplation, standing (suspicious). They still couldn't break the habit of using Chinese honorifics, the language first learned from millennia of being under China's wing.

"Are you really Kiku, or are you here to beat us? What should I anticipate this time? Branding, slashing, pain, abuse? Do you honestly think you can saunter in here and expect us to grovel and await the hellhole you always set on us, you son of a whore!" North Korea shouted, eyes blazing, standing before his brother with an expression marred with severity and venom. Im Yong Soo glanced at Kiku once before pushing past North Korea, knowing who it was.

"This is Kiku-erge, San-ge!" South Korea stated, affronted, obliviously patting Kiku's hair, towering over the older nation (aniki). "Can't you tell anymore?"

"Please, it's me, brother," Kiku replied, trying to placate the seething nation, Dark Japan's prisoner. North Korea merely scowled, spitting with disgust into the heavily soiled dirt.

"What do you plan to do with us?" North Korea demanded, distrustful after years of endless abuse, South Korea watching their silent exchange of emotion with bated breath (deerdear). Only the younger still held an ounce of trust left for Kiku.

"We're going to escape for a short while."

"Where can you take us that Dark Kiku cannot reach? Do you wish to imperil us further? Our previous attempt at freedom failed miserably, do you not remember? " North Korea countered sharply.

"I simply wish to take you to Kyoto's Gion district for some carousing and merry-making," Kiku replied lightly, his stomach churning in queasy fear (hunted). He wanted to escape from the weight of the world's atrocities so badly his mind contemplated flinging himself off of some tall edifice.

Both Koreas affixed Japan with a dubious gaze, making Japan return it with aversion. The adversity of their condition should've denied any such notion to cross their minds, but all wished so desperately for just a moment of escape in the long stream of their lives (fantasy).

"…Alright. I'll go with you, Er-ge. But know that once we reach this place, you must explain to us what has transpired over the years," North Korea acquiesced gravely, taking from the piles of straw and dirt an old and battered sword sheathed in rags. Kiku recognized it as the sword he'd used against Dark Kiku and Russia all those years ago (memory).

"Aniki! Who is this man?" South Korea asked excitedly, still so naïve and like a child. Kiku envied him.

All three of the nations stepped from the dank mustiness and into the enshrouding folds of night, the Koreas reveling in the night's cool air. Tsukiyomi stepped back and let all three nations marvel at the manifestation of the deity, appraising them with superiority in his eyes (king). Tsukiyomi inclined his head respectfully, the Koreas bowing the way China had taught them as children. Kiku did the same, feeling long-lost warmth begin to melt away the frost in his heart.

"You must be Tsukiyomi-no-Mikado," South Korea recognized wisely, childishness belying the wisdom and knowledge within (sage). North Korea merely nodded, not saying anything.

"_I am Japan's father, young ones. I think you should like to know that your parents watch affectionately from heaven and pray for you." _Both Koreas seemed to soften, eyes hazing in nostalgia. "_Are we really going to interact with humans, my son?" _

"Yes, father." Tsukiyomi nodded and was enfolded in vaporous displays of light, making the three Asians dodge their eyes. As the glamour of light faded, before them stood what looked to be an ordinary Japanese man, clad in fine dressings with a handsome yet stern face (fatherly). Tsukiyomi passed a hand over their heads, the nations curiously watching him. They too became enshrouded in light, and when it faded, revealing cleansed bodies and fresh, expensive men's kimonos, all three clad in familiar hakama of varying colors, haori settled on their shoulders. For once, even the Korean brothers' hair curls seemed alight with energy missing for too long. Like Cinderella, however, they all knew that this wouldn't last.

"_Forgive me for not dressing you in the clothing of your kinsmen, but you'll have no choice if you're to escape notice of those who hunt you," _Tsukiyomi said gravely, causing all three to experience an increase in heartbeat from trepidation.

"Come, we must leave at once before any guards find out," Kiku said urgently, spiriting away deeper into the night, the other three following him with equal swiftness. They traversed the wood until coming into a busy street filled with ramshackle homes clustered like a beehive, passing through a narrow alley only wide enough for a few people to pass (claustrophobia). It gave way into a street still tightly stitched together like tiles on a quilt. Several ricksha and their coolies pulled their charges through the night-lit street, dodging around pedestrians and the occasional car. Kiku found a waiting taxi idly parked in front of a shady izakaya, the driver leaning against the hood and smoking the blaze of a cigarette, a firefly in the moonlight.

"I request use of your services," Kiku said urgently, pulling from a pocket a slip of a paper with the Imperial seal embossed upon it. The man's eyes lazily considered the paper, and once they had seen their fill, started sharply and bowed deeply. He scrambled to the side of the car and opened a door of the 1923 Lafayette, ushering in all four with a changed demeanor. Tsukiyomi eased himself in first, followed by Kiku and the two Koreas. The car was obscenely large for the narrow streets, but still managed to move nonetheless.

"To Tokyo station, if you will," Kiku instructed politely. The man nodded and sped off, people and rickshas fleeing to the sides of the road. They drove in silence for quite awhile, none of them aware of the passage of time and instead focused on their own thoughts. Kiku felt the more uneasy now than ever, so many fears plaguing him to the point of sickness (unmentionable).

The drove to the high, warehouse shaped building. It was European, distinctively English, a high glass ceiling with steel supports interwoven in. Several hollowed out recesses with tracks served as the platforms in which they would board. Kiku found a ticket booth and again flashed the Imperial seal, and in exchange hastily received four tickets, first class. The Koreas gave him inquiring glances, which Kiku ignored.

They found the train that was soon to depart and boarded it, the Koreas slightly unnerved by the steaming and huffing monstrosity of the cylindrical engine, its massive wheels, coiling smoke. South Korea unknowingly took North's hand as they boarded, something Kiku wished he could do (longing).

All four of them came to the luxurious cabin, lined with a plush leather coach and even bunk beds. A table sat in the center, chestnut veneer gleaming beneath several sconces, exclusively electric, a pricy commodity in twentieth century Japan. The floor was upholstered with Persian rugs, tingling decorations hanging from the ceiling (grandeur). Kiku made way to one of the seats lining the windows and heaved himself into it. The Koreas took the couch while Tsukiyomi sat nearer to Kiku.

Kiku took a crystal bottle shaped like a tear drop from the small table next to him, liquor swishing within. He poured a generous amount into a medium-sized shot glass and drained it quickly, then replenishing the glass (madness). Though he was extremely old, to the human eye he didn't look a day over eighteen or so, making the Koreas gaze at him worriedly.

"Aniki, please stop." Japan's face, flushed, glanced up at Im Yong Soo. He fingered the filled shot glass, draining it again for a fourth time.

"_My son, you would be wise to listen to your brother," _Tsukiyomi tried dissuading. Kiku scoffed, the alcohol making him loose his usual composure.

"We won't be arriving until tomorrow evening. There's no need for you to worry about my condition. Have some yourself; your scars must be just as painful," Kiku retorted, draining yet another glass. He glared at the slim band around his ring finger, forged from his own blood and flesh, never to heal (wife). He wanted to claw into it and peal the scab away, but he'd tried that time and time again only for it to partially heal and return an angrier shade of red.

"What you're doing is idiotic. We need you to be yourself until arrival, not some idiot drunk," North Korea said scathingly, letting his gaze follow the blur of the train's movement.

"_My son, why must you drink your sorrows away?" _

"Why?" Kiku bit back unfitting laughter. "Why not?" he snapped, eyes red and glaring.

"Aniki, it does concern us. We share the same fate, like it or not! You're not the only one suffering!" South replied with rising anger. North just narrowed his eyes and continued to ignore them (burning).

"Enough of that! How are we 'sharing the same fate'? You two are colonies and suffer a plight that is all your own! When will you understand that our pain is different?" Kiku angrily gulped down the tasteless stuff, feeling his sharpness glaze over into the beginnings of mellowness (butter).

"Er-di, didn't you want to know what's been going on these past few years? How rare for you to be worried for your oppressor."

North Korea's eyes flashed dangerously. "What happened to Yao-ge? Why can't he be with us?"

Kiku considered the question, mind too muddled to quickly formulate an answer (math).

"Yao-ge is in turmoil. He's torn and divided between two leaders. He's not the same man you remember," Kiku responded quietly, putting aside the full glass on the table, having had enough. He rested his face in his hands, unlocked emotions coming into the light. Why all of a sudden was he feeling his emotions again?

"The modern age seems to have quite a bit of that," South stated ruefully, glancing at his brother who was ignoring them (stingray). "I just want aniki to be his old self again. I miss him so much, Erge."

"Japan seems to be too worried about himself than to care for us or Yao-ge. Stop acting like such a martyr!"—this he directed at Japan—"This seems to a drama only you star in! Stop pissing and moaning and actually do something!"

"What can I do, since you're suddenly so brilliant? Since when have I been 'pissing and moaning,' as you say?"

"You don't have to say anything! All you do is roll up in a petrified ball and forget about us! You want us to be family so badly, so why not do something more? I'm sure your bastardized half would be more than responsive to your sexual wiles!"

Kiku's eyes burned lividly. "Sexual wiles? Do you have any idea how much I loathe that son of a whore born in a pile of shit? I'm powerless compared to him! I'm like a peasant and he's the one with a gun! He could kill me at will, become the new Japan, and then you could truly suffer! Would you prefer that fate?"

North stood up abruptly from the couch, brows furrowed so deeply his face hurt to look at. Kiku took on his signature glare. They stood at attrition for what seemed to be long stretches of time, until South Korea intervened.

The Southern nation seized both of their wrists and hauled them around, arresting them with pain (fire). "You're both pissing me off! How is fighting going to solve anything? What about Xiang Gang? Taiwan? Hyeongnim, Kiku-erge is doing what he can. Erge, we're doing all we can, but it hurts every day." North viciously ripped his hand from Im Yong Soo's grip, glaring at them both, sitting on the couch and ignoring them again. Kiku's hand was released by South, who soundlessly took his place beside his brother.

"_I feel as if something grievous will come and claim the world," _Tsukiyomi said ominously, choosing not to have interrupted. He rested his jaw on an elbow, still retaining his godly presence (Kami-sama).

"I've been feeling the same," Nouth replied suddenly, seeming to forget their fight just now, startling South. "Can't you all sense it as well? The world has been holding its breath for years now. It's inescapable and painful. Even the air around as constantly holds a weighted dread."

"_What do you think it is?"_

"Another war, most likely, 일본의 아버지," North Korea replied. He glanced at Kiku whose face was buried in his hands. "A war of the likes Kiku has witnessed." Kiku raised his head, eyes penetrating into equally unfathomable ones (abyss).

"Are you saying that another Great War is to come?" North Korea shrugged, stretching an arm over South Korea to clasp around a bottle of liquor similar to what Kiku had used. He took a long dreg of it, face almost immediately flushing. He proffered it to Im Yong Soo, who tried to refuse, but North instead forced to the bottle to the younger's lips despite his evident refusal (help).

"You've been hurting just as much as I have, _dongsaeng,_" North said softly, stroking his brother's hair. "It's just rice wine, like Gege used to let us try in trace amounts when we were small." Kiku watched them, recalling how eager the Koreas had been, when they were younger, how Gege always gave extremely small amounts of rice wine to them during celebrations. He'd always refused, trying to make his gege proud by refusing such a vice, showcasing his practiced self-restraint (bushido). How ironic it was now, how he'd lost control for such a vice nowadays. This was the first time Kiku had ever gotten drunk of his own accord.

South hesitantly took the bottle, eyes dampening. He raised the bottle high, drinking as much as his brother had. His sleeve slipped downwards, revealing scratches and bruises no doubt given to him by Dark Kiku (possessor). Kiku looked away.

Tsukiyomi did nothing to stop them, instead compassionately understanding them.

Much worse was soon to come.

Mellowed by drunkenness, all of the three nations fell into a deep sleep for the remainder of the journey, Kiku taking the bottom bunk and forming a cocoon around himself. South took the top one while North occupied the couch, each sleeping with an almost comatose deepness. Such repose hadn't been possible since before any of them could remember (longtime).

* * *

Tsukiyomi watched as the sun rose, starting from a soft red beneath the purple blankets of clouds to the furious glare of a new morning. The kami felt himself weaken beneath the glare of Japan's mother, so he lowered all of the cabin's curtains to reduce that shameful stare, letting only the dim sconces softly glow (down).

He looked upon his surrogate son, knowing that he was truly the yield of Izanagi and Izanami, but they were too busy in heaven to pay any attention to their own child who was forced to endure so much. He remembered the day he and Amaterasu had made vows to watch over the boy in the alternating shifts of night and day. Sometimes he lingered in the early morning, but was prudent to disappear by afternoon (daydream).

However, all of this was inconsequential. His son was suffering and they had plans ahead of them.

Rays of the sun streamed into the room, flooding it with light only for a moment before the sun rose behind a cloud, like a woman modestly hiding herself behind a sleeve or fan. Tsukiyomi let the curtain settle down again, watching as his son slept, looking so much like the child born thousands of years before (panda).

And his heart ached.

* * *

The boys who pretended be men awoke by noon, having slept deeply and without much occurrence (dreamless). South Korea was the first to rise, smiling sunnily at a plan he'd come up with. South Korea crept in tipped toes to the bottom bunk of the obscenely ornate bed. Then, he halted suddenly, taking a running start and pouncing on the bed.

"Good morning, Kiku-erge!" South Korea chirped like a songbird, sprawled across Kiku who was sleepily rubbing his eyes. Kiku gazed at him sleepily for a moment before bursting into a smile and flipping their positions. South began laughing with Kiku, both nations comfortable enough to laugh for so long for the first time in years. The smile on Kiku's face was uncharacteristically genuine (anomaly).

It was as if someone had secreted the gloomy and morose Kiku away in exchange for the boy Kiku should be.

Kiku started to whisper in Im Yong Soo's ear some sneaky scheme, earning from South a wink and ruffling of hair. Their collective gazes rested upon a still-asleep nation buried beneath blankets and robes. They graced from the bed with the elegance of tigers, prowling close to the couch, both nearing closer. Both would have earned some merit if their plan wasn't going to end so comically (clown).

Spontaneously they pounced from the floor and attacked a yelping North Korea, joyous whoops filling the morning air. South ripped open the curtains to let in a powerful sunstream, Kiku jiggling North to consciousness, the tension of the night before gone.

"Good morning!" Kiku and Im Yong Soo cried in unison, tacking on their respective titles, earning a glare fuzzy in sleepiness. The North Korean smirked, launching from the couch to send them all in a tumble of blankets and giggling yelps. They were a still heap for only a moment before a riot of laughter emanated from them. It was a massive catharsis of relief and joy (lovejoy).

Composing themselves, all three rose from the ground. South Korea then grabbed both of the nations in his arms, smiling broadly. North reluctantly returned it while Kiku was much more enthusiastic (family). Without fear of Russia or Dark Kiku, all nations were tremendously relaxed, forgetting the ills of the night before.

All released each other, plopping down on the couch. A silence resumed itself, Kiku started to suddenly cry out in pain. He was frantically clawing at the scabbed ring finger, face sweating and red in pain (hurts). Tsukiyomi rushed over to his son, hovering over the boy protectively, the Koreas watching anxiously.

"Aniki!"

"Erge!"

Kiku screamed brokenly, clutching his finger. And as suddenly as it started, it stopped. When Kiku lifted his eyes to them, they were cold and soulless. Tears devoid of emotion poured down Japan's cheeks (painful).

"I'm sorry." Kiku lifted a hand to wipe his tears away, his voice cold, belying the tears running down his cheeks.

"Aniki," South Korea whispered, embracing his brother tightly. "We'll get through this soon. We'll kill Imperialism together and make Yao-ge better again!" South said with admirable conviction.

"Don't be so ignorant!" North Korea snapped, glancing between the embracing brothers (watching). His eyes sharpened and all traces of the morning's cheer quickly sizzled away.

"You live in an idealistic world, dongsaeng! We know that another War is upon us, which is for certain. Do you forget our current status? We're a colony of Japan, part of its empire! 'Black Noise' is Imperialism and commands the armies of his country. He will not hesitate to crush any risings of rebellion! Don't you get it, you stupid boy? It's going to take a very long time, if at all, to quell this condition. We may be living in that shed for the rest of our lives!" North's anger was felt throughout the room, Kiku gazing at the country emptily, South holding Kiku tightly (nekochan).

"That doesn't mean we can't fight!" South growled, glaring accusingly at his brother. "We're torn enough as it is. Is it so terrible to hope, to wish, for at least our family to unite? Even if we can't alter our fates, only families will hold out. Family is the last sanctuary in any situation, stupid San-ge!"

"Please, don't concern yourself with this. I meant for this trip to be relaxing. The train left ahead of schedule, so we can explore Gion for a longer amount of time." Kiku freed himself from Im Yong Soo's arms, working up the fakest smile any of them could've felt possible. It looked painted upon their elder brother's face, like a doll half shaded in shadow (Dracula).

"I apologize, brother. But in the face of such adversity we can't help but feel this way. These are grim times," North said, slightly grudgingly. He folded his arms and flopped against the couch, supporting his face on the arm of the couch.

"They are indeed, Erdi," Kiku agreed quietly, wishing he could feel as bright as the sun (as his mother).

* * *

Kyoto was a thriving city, the curved eaves of tiled roofs and closely compacted homes shading them from the sun. Innumerable _okiya _and sakura trees crowded and clumping together in the streets and many thoroughfares of the famous geisha district, alive and lively. The sakura and plum blossoms were a brilliant cacophony of delicate fragrances and color, sprouting up from cloistered courtyards or in the street, hanging over like a cozy tunnel. Several teahouses and other minor establishments were warm with activity, aglow with comforting lanterns and hospitable light. Numerous geisha flitted from place to place, maiko trailing behind, both dressed in exquisite kimono. Their wooden clogs clopped against the brick laden streets, echoing loudly in tight quarters. Several ricksha and their coolies dodged between numerous pedestrians. Gion was a place of classic Oriental mystery, weaving many a romantic dream in the minds of foreigners and residents alike.

Kiku watched absently as they veered past simplistic buildings and charming signs advertising the purpose of the establishment, embossed characters gleaming beneath soft lantern light. Several rows of paper lanterns were strung up between the compacted structures, further narrowing the streets. He was seated in a rickshaw able to seat two, the Koreas' not far ahead rattling away (bouncing).

It was evening, the sun beginning to reluctantly set. They were on their way to one of Gion's most prominent teahouses, the sun cresting it as they began closing in. South flashed an anxious glance at Kiku, the older nation regarding him with a slight smile, though it was again forced. They continued on their way.

The romance of night was beginning to settle, the frequency of geisha sightings rising to a flourish. The light emanating from the lanterns glowed with increasing strength, almost drawing energy from the spark and sizzle of air charged with excitement (joyride). The rickshaws came to a stop, lowered to the ground. Kiku again flashed the slip of paper, garnering a deep bow and awed silence. The paper was like a tab, something only members of the royal family possessed. Because Kiku was known to many of his people, he was given this privlege. He was allotted these which proved his lineage, and since many of his people wished to treat him respectfully, he could do almost anything scot-free, even enjoy splurges in the pricy Gion district for nothing.

They proceeded to the teahouse, the haute of Japanese architectural grandeur. The broad tiles swopped upwards elegantly, the large roka encompassed by richly carved screens. Everything seemed to be hewn from dreams, a place of rest many eager and wealthy politicians and businessmen wished to indulge in (gold). All four of them climbed the steps, courteously dodging modest geisha and meiko. All four of them were freshly clad in richly textured and colored kimono. When they entered, young women rushed to their service.

They were guided down a hall, having removed their shoes in favor of socks (polite). They were taken to a room where the women leading them softly opened the door, taking them in a room already filled with some patrons. The middle-aged men seemed slightly intrigued at the youth of the Koreas and Japan, shocking them, especially Kiku whose face was much prettier than the several geisha speaking gaily with their charges. They were hastily seated at low-sitting tables, all having to sit on their knees.

New geisha came into the room, quickly taking their seats next to the three new patrons. All three seemed to delight in their youth, though they were clearly older. Kiku nervously accepted the company of a pretty girl, just a meiko, who shyly began speaking with him. Her face was covered in white, lips ablaze in rouge, the back of her kimono collar slung low, revealing her neck. Thinking of his own, he felt his heart drop climb into his throat, vivid and horrible memories filling his mind.

"Is something the matter…?" the lovely girl tried, reminding him of Taiwan.

"Honda Kiku," Kiku introduced quickly, eyes darting to his family who were similarly engaged in conversation, one of the arts geisha were renowned for. He returned his attentions to the girl, so endearingly modest (neechan).

"My, you're so young to be so influential. You must be rather gifted in whatever art you've made your career from." She smiles so beautifully, Kiku notes. She's not like other women at all.

"Would you like to know a secret?" The young woman nods with a fully engaged enthusiasm. Kiku leans closer, her breath bating, pulling the slip of paper from his robe, sneaking to her a slight view of the Imperial crest. She gasps slightly, glancing around the room to make sure no one else has seen. Kiku secrets it away just as quickly.

"Honda-_sama, _you honor such a lowly meiko like me," she breathes in awe. Gasping like she forgot something, the girl poured a small ceramic glass of sake. Kiku drained the liquid with appreciative flourish, setting it down just as quickly.

Drinks are poured and swallowed in rapid succession among all of the men, Kiku becoming satisfyingly mellow, cheeks flushed once more. Everything blurs a bit more with each drink, one after another—how many?—and the world becomes a warm fusion of color and music—

A shamisen begins its quiet plucking, each echoing with rich energy (bullet). A geisha becomes the focus of the room's brightest lantern, silhouetting her in a warm glow. This one is exquisitely beautiful, her face adorned with lovely variances of make-up that set her apart from all of the others present. Her almond eyes ringed with petals of red survey the clientele, standing with statuesque grace (swan). The shamisen is being plucked with a leisurely tempo, the dancer pulling two fans from the depths of her sleeves. She begins to twirl and dance, movement swaying like the tides of the sea. Having been a male geisha for his own amusement in the past, Kiku knew what her every move meant.

She was portraying a lonely girl in the agonies of solidarity, longing for her love. Her face was beautifully pained, fans hiding it at interludes, depicting the range of her sadness like the tempests of winds. Her form dipped and twirled, despite the restrictiveness of her kimono, face changing accordingly. Kiku became hypnotized by her elegant movements and the feverish tempo to the shamisen, accenting the emotion of her dance. She dipped and twirled with several revolutions, face becoming more and more pained. Suddenly, she fell to the ground, prostrating. The shamisen completely paused for a moment, the audience captured in tension. Even South Korea was beginning to cry it was so emotional.

The shamisen began plucking again, the soft strains reviving the dance. Slowly the gorgeous woman rose, fans fluttering heavenwards, depicting a rising hope. Kiku studied every movement, enraptured, knowing every symbol behind her fluidity. She began rising and dipping in passionate swirls, a rage of emotion no words could capture. She seemed to be looking, confused by the torrents of her own emotion. The shamisen continued its rapid onslaught of emotional play, matching the geisha's swell of raw feeling. She began twirling the fans again, catching and refracting light in confusing spectacles, dazzling her audience (river).

Then, she knelt to the ground, clasping the fans together as one broad shield to her face, the shamisen ceasing its play.

The performance was, regrettably, over.

Kiku began clapping, not gaping at her like a fish as most of the audience as. The geisha rose and bowed gratefully, capturing Kiku's eyes with alluring charm. An idea hatched in his mind, and he acted upon it, the meiko watching him with a fixated stare.

Kiku whispered softly to the geisha, who seemed to answer him gingerly. Kiku said something else, to which she happily agreed. She walked to the shamisen player and whispered confidentially in her ear, the sitting woman agreeing. Taking their respective places, the story would continue (revue).

Taking one of her fans, the Koreas exchanged strange looks among themselves. Japan ignored them, feeling the adrenaline rush through his veins.

The shamisen began to be plucked with monotonous medley, Kiku and the woman moving in synch; they began taking steps around each other, fans extended and hands locked together. They walked in a circle, Kiku moving as fluidly as she had. Another geisha began playing a small hand drum, beating in time with the shamisen.

_We're connected, Dark Kiku and I. Bonded by the mind, he drains and drains, robbing me of feeling. We're like mother and child, connected with something like an umbilical cord._

Their movements seemed to explode in a frenzy of emotion, moving in perfect, mirror synchrony. They flowed like koi in a pond, then like clouds cloaking a moon. They moved past each other in a passionate dance of love, heartfelt and filled with a passionate longing. Their hands holding the fans locked and they stepped in a circle like lions to the challenge. Kiku's hair swirled and his body swayed, soon losing himself. The shamisen filled his mind, the drums dictating his movements, her face filling his eyes, twisting into such a vivid range of sensation (holdme).

_This damned bond that reaches all levels. I can't feel any emotion without him calling it back. Even now, I have no choice but to be empty, or suffer._ He remembers earlier, the screaming, how much the band hurt. He's felt it so many times before.

The music stopped, and Kiku was left reeling from his mild inebriation and huffing breath. Even the geisha, so poised and perfect, was panting. The patrons were not the only ones present, for even those enjoying themselves in the open courtyard had nearly flooded into the room. Loud, raucous clapping and exuberant laughter sounded from throughout, causing a sensation. The woman giggled nervously, eyes shyly avoiding Kiku's (celebrity).

The Koreas watched Kiku in abject silence, still slightly confused by his behavior. The meiko who had entertained Kiku seemed happy as well, clapping her hands along with everyone else.

Seeing it fitting to make his escape, Kiku avoided around many men with the slip of a ninja; he signaled to his brothers who followed him. The clapping followed them into the night as they escaped the teahouse and into the mysterious streets of Gion.

"Kiku-erge! I thought you couldn't show emotion," South Korea said breathlessly after they had dodged through many alleys and traversed over some number of bridges. "I didn't know you could dance like that either," he added with a wry smile (star).

"It just...happened. I'll never get to express myself like that again. It must like the culmination of so many repressed years that it finally poured out now."

"That was impressive brother, but I think it would be prudent to leave now. We don't word reaching Black Noise," North advised, adopting the nickname easily. All three nodded in conviction, readying their final escape. They began to weave their way through the mythical Gion, a blossom storm of cherry blossoms raining down upon them in falls of scent and delicate color. Kiku cast his eyes above the faerie-lights of the lanterns, gazing beyond into the legends of the stars, resting finally upon the moon (father).

Despite his wishes for peace, he felt at utmost feeling of dread fill him.

The world would soon be awash in a sea of blood.

* * *

_Even if you give me the words I'm at a loss for, my heart just won't pay attention.  
If I move myself away, if I change everything, I'll turn it all black._

_I'm just tired even of walking, I don't even understand people.  
If someone like me can change, if I can change, will I turn white?_

_Is there a future to come out of this useless time? Will I exist in a place like this?  
If I wanted to tell you what kind of person I am, the words I'd use would be "good for nothing."_

* * *

Last thoughts: Hey, long time no see! I thought maybe you might appreciate a little reprieve before the real angst-fest begins. Yep, we're talking WW2. And for Japan, the Sino-Japanese War: the sequel. This is probably the last 'happy' chapter before things go downhill into scary territory. Sorry I waited so long to change the story's rating. And I never thought this story would make it 'M" until at least WW2. I should've changed it several chappies ago… XP Hopefully you don't mind this reeeallly random interlude. I think this is what happens when you watch "Memoirs of a Geisha" and have a fanattack over it. XD

History: "The geisha who worked within the pleasure quarters were essentially imprisoned and strictly forbidden to sell sex in order to protect the business of the Oiran. While licensed courtesans existed to meet men's sexual needs, _machi geisha_ carved out a separate niche as artists and erudite female companions.[14]

By 1800, being a geisha was considered a female occupation (though there are still a handful of male geisha working today). Eventually, the gaudy Oiran began to fall out of fashion, becoming less popular than the chic, "iki", and modern geisha.[7] By the 1830s, the evolving geisha style was emulated by fashionable women throughout society.[15]There were many different classifications and ranks of geisha. Some women would have sex with their male customers, whereas others would entertain strictly with their art forms.[16] Prostitution was legal up until the 1900s, so it was practiced in many quarters throughout Japan.

World War II brought a huge decline in the geisha arts because most women had to go to factories or other places to work for Japan. The geisha name also lost some status during this time because prostitutes began referring to themselves as "geisha girls" to American military men.[17] In 1944, everything in the geisha's world, including teahouses, bars, and houses, was forced to shut down, and all employees were put to work in factories. About a year later, they were allowed to reopen. The very few women who returned to the geisha areas decided to reject Western influence and revert back to traditional ways of entertainment and life. "The image of the geisha was formed during Japan's feudal past, and this is now the image they must keep in order to remain geisha."

And in case you're wondering, Yao isn't going to become some sadistic person or anything. During this time I thought that because the Kuomintang and the Communists were basically at each other's throats that Yao would encounter some kind of mental instability because of it. They were two radically opposed groups of people with extremely different ideals, after all. If you have any other questions, just PM me or add it in your review!

Lyrics are "Bad Apple" by touhou.

And an extra special thankies for **Hikari Kame **for being an awesomesausome beta!

As always, review, review, review!


	29. Those Memories Are Lost To Us, 妹妹

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_That flying form_

_____Its brilliance, its wounds_

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_The memories you painted that time_  
_Now I see the colours you made it_  
_In order to protect the you who seemed ready to fall apart_

_I spread my slightly anxious wings_

_

* * *

_

It was a pleasant surprise. The Soviet Union had penned a manifesto with his leader, Sun Yat-sen, that intended to relinquish its land and rights within his borders and establish ties between the two fledgling countries released only recently from crippling wars. Though this document had been issued months ago, he'd heard of it just now. His face hardened at the thought of Russia, at the tryst between the European and his enemy. (In a way, Russia had kept his promise to Japan, late as it was.)

In this plunge into blood and darkness, allies were rare, trusted ones scarcer still.

Amber eyes blinked in the darkness, something he was finding himself disturbingly acquainted to. He walked through the many empty halls of his home, devoid of warmth, of human voices; he was completely alone. He walked with a somber step, each coalescing like he was many people in this empty place. His hair whispered behind like a ghost, clothes barely crinkling in their freshness. He came to the courtyard, ornately screened, myriad plants with a nimbus pale like the moon far overhead. No birds chirped; not even crickets engaged themselves in nightly symphony he had grown fond of hearing. It was as if a proverbial, perpetual winter enshrouded his home.

This place had once been filled with laughter and love. Now it was an empty derelict in a country struggling to assert itself in the plague of poverty and imperialism. An advent republic, a political struggle, the plea of dying citizens. This was all he could identify himself with. He was fallen and trying desperately to right himself after so many years in weakness. He hated the China of the past when the age of grandeur had fallen away to be replaced by those living in ignorance. He regretted the situations he could've changed, the suffering the Imperialists wrought upon him.

Japan had been seduced in their fear, their desperate struggle to not be consumed by the Westerners. And now Taiwan, Hong Kong, the Koreas and many others had been taken. Japan had been taken into their power, trying to emulate those he had once hated. Hei Riben had been born, satisfying his ruler's lofty ideals with blood and malice. Those heartless, void eyes still haunted him. He had stolen his child away to be sealed in his "love."

And he hated them both for it.

Yao continued his nightly walk, mind entertaining dark thoughts. He was the Republic of China, a beauty from the past lost to the swell of advancement and power. He wasn't China any longer; rather he was an emerging nation seeking peace after so many years of pain. He came to the empty dining hall, eyes emptily surveying the many ornaments and their intricacies, the window that had been smashed by Ivan years earlier and then repaired. Those memories teased at his mind, but he shoved them aside for the present. The blood; he could still smell his brothers' blood, the starkly fresh memory of his near-asphyxiation, the hate he now felt for Ivan, for Russia, even if he had relinquished the land he once controlled. They were only interested in sharing in the spoils of victory should a war arise, and he was well aware of how close that date loomed.

The pacing continued, he unaware of where his body was taking him, hostage of an anxious mind. Halls sped by, bygone memories enticing him, millennia old. China never ceased his walk, coming into rooms he'd never been in since the dissolution of his family.

A particular set of doors sent chills down his spine as his fingers caressed the aged and beautifully kept wood, tracing over the inset designs and embossed patterns. The rich, aged scent would've tantalized anyone else, but for him, it only made him nauseous. Regardless, he flung open the doors, body still as they creaked eerily open.

Here before him was Japan's room.

It was a modest affair, consisting of every necessity a person could require. Japan's was the simplest of all, filled only with the requirements, a reflection of his simplified and peaceful tastes for living. China knelt to the ground near the futon, never put away since the day Japan had been abruptly ordered to leave China's care for good and returned to the hands of his superiors. A cloud of dust sprinkled the air when Yao gently touched the blanket layer, rising to float away before settling down again. A writing chest still had a sheaf of paper on its top, one half scrawled with delicate calligraphy, untouched for centuries and beginning to decay. The ink kit looked as if the person who been writing there had been made to abruptly leave.

Everything in the room had been untouched since that fateful day. Nothing had been moved; no one had entered this room for centuries. Motes of pervaded the air, the windows sealed permanently. The musty smell was impossibly strong and would've encouraged any normal person to leave with a wrinkle of their nose, but Yao remained. He could smell faint traces of the former occupant, an almost intangible, sweet fragrance most would've missed. It was the faint scent of cherry blossoms, the epitome of Japanese spring. It was a scent that belonged to him.

Fingers touched lips, guiltily remembering the frenzy of that day. Yao's eyes began darkening, remembering those emotionless ones. He'd only wanted to reclaim his Kiku from that emotionless void! Those eyes seeped in the wretchedness of his Dark likeness…

There was nothing he could do now. Kiku was lost, perhaps forever to his Darkness's machinations. Those eyes would never hold the light ever again, and his face would be expressionless. Eyes that were once warm and calm would only be black with nothingness. Eyes that terrified him, eyes too much like the Darkness.

Yao was suddenly still. He felt something twist and turn against him, filling him slowly with pain. Hands flew to his chest, mind incomprehensible. His heart skipped a beat and then seemed to waver before picking up in erratic beat. He coughed violently, once, twice, and into his hand came blood. Their color.

"W-What is this?" he whispered in fright. His mind locked on to images, disputing on what two focus on. Two different mentalities were ripping him apart!

He was prostrating to pain, his body boiling and twitching madly. Every muscle tightened and relaxed itself sporadically, numbing his mind as he cried out in pain. Red sickle, red, bluewhite star, red. Crimson sickle, crimson star—

China coughed again, eyes bulging. He clutched his head madly, voices filling his ears, disputing, ravaging…rising into a muting crescendo that blocked all sounds from his ears, even that of his own breathing and screaming.

"No—not again!" he begged himself, remembering the confrontation, that animalistic frenzy of thoughtlessness. He gagged suddenly, a turnover of pain swirling through his body like a thousand hornets stinging every inch of skin. It itched, burned, sending him further into madness. Why wasn't anyone helping him!

He was alone, that is the reason. You can't rely on anyone but yourself.

"Yao-gege!" A high-pitched scream broke the madness, jilting him back to reality. Hands and arms and long sleeves enveloped him, the delicate scent of plum blossom wafting from warm clothes and a soft body. Long hair tickled past his cheeks, hands like cream cradling him. His eyes came into focus, illuminated by a face like an angel's. Wobbling, bright eyes seemed to dance in their stream of tears, soft lips holding back cries of anguish.

"Meimei?" The girl in question nodded her head vigorously, curls of hair dancing with her. She forced a smile upon her face. As Yao's eyes came into focus, reality did as well. Her face was streaked clean only by her tears, skin marred with soot and ash. Her rich clothing was soiled and marred by gaping cuts and was only clinging to her body. Her hair was limpid and dragged down from her exhaustion.

"Gege." Words so simple rang in his ears, easing him into peace. His eyes flicked to meet hers, head resting upon her lap, hand gently stroking his hair.

"What are you doing here?" Her face contorted into a flash of sadness, looking away the intensity of his golden eyes. She heaved a sigh.

"I wanted to see you. I haven't been able to see anyone but you. I had to escape, but they're holding him prisoner, gege," she whispered, hair falling in cascading waves over her shoulders.

"Everyone in our family is being held prisoner, meimei," Yao's voice rasped. It sounded painful even to hear himself.

"I know, gege. But I was talking about er-ge." Yao's eyes hardened, grimacing.

"Didi isn't like us any longer, meimei. He isn't the same." Taiwan's innocent gaze faltered.

"Are you talking about Dark Kiku?"

Yao's eyes widened in abject shock. "Where did you hear about Hei Riben?" he demanded.

"He's been visiting my people frequently now…and he…h-he…" Taiwan could say nothing more, dissolving into fresh tears, descending into sobs. Instead of saying anything more, she bowed her head, ashamed. Yao shot upwards.

With deliberate slowness, Taiwan removed the high-throated clasps of her qipao, face flushed with embarrassment. She removed the clasps until ample cleavage could be seen, but with good reason. Scarred around her neck was a scab in the mockery of a necklace, dipping between her breasts. Tracings of what was supposed to be delicate designs were carved into her breasts, which she pulled back the collar to show, almost to completely indecent levels. Leaving it be, she rolled the sleeves away from her wrists where several bands had been carved into delicate skin. Yao's eyes became livid with rage.

"How did this happen?" he choked out, eyes locking with those glaring gashes. He had to contain his mounting anger. He had to remain calm.

"When he first came, he visited me. He told me that 'Imperial Japan will love and protect Formosa. We'll make you one of us, a very beautiful part of Imperial Japan.' He kissed and me and told me he loved me, and ordered me to take off my top. I was so scared Gege I could hardly breathe! When I did nothing, he held me and touched me and kissed my neck and throat, and he started to take off my top. Then I really couldn't breathe, and my heart felt sick and it was beating like a hummingbird's wings"—she began shivering violently, tears flowing down her cheeks in a stronger flow—"and I begged for him to stop. But he wouldn't. He started kissing my chest and told me that I belonged to Imperial Japan forever and that I would never escape from him. When he was done, he bound my hands and feet together—I was almost completely naked!—and he pulled out his sword and did this to me. I screamed as loudly as I could but no one came! It hurt and I bled so much… He said that this was a gift from Imperial Japan and that I should be grateful and that I should smile. When I didn't, he slapped me and when I screamed for him to stop he kicked my stomach. I was unconscious for awhile and when I woke up I was alone and it was dark!" Taiwan flung herself into Yao's arms and cried profusely. Yao held her tightly, stroking her hair, anger and sadness and so many unnamed emotions burning away at him.

"I'm sorry, meimei. I'm so sorry." Yao held his sister, wondering when he would be struck down next. Already all of his children and siblings had been marked by Dark Kiku, even Russia. It was a memory never to be forgotten, sealed by skin and forged from the flesh.

They broke apart and Taiwan began to bind her clothes up again, crying as she did. She hiccupped and sniffled, and Yao was heartbroken by the sight of such a strong young woman reduced to this. His hands ached to hold the weapon that would strike Dark Kiku down for everything he'd done to them, for every cruelty wrought upon them all.

Yao seized her in an embrace again, she returning it just as tightly. He was her gege again who told them stories and protected them when they grew up. Now he was the man who was one who meant the world to her, he was her older brother, a family member she loved. Maybe she loved Japan more, but her heart constricted when she thought of the barbaric man who possessed her brother's gentle face and twisted it into a demonic leer. She had felt the guilt when this had happened, the childish and romantic fantasies she'd had for Japan, the part of her that liked his kisses. When he had been gentle, Imperial Japan, she pretended that it was Onii-san who had come to love her like the romantic legends she grew up with as a child. But when he had gone too far, when he had starting hurting her and kissing her the way adults do, she became terrified. The fantasy had been broken into an experience into hell.

"I still love him, Gege. I still love er-ge so much…" she said in a voice like a mouse. China's heart dropped when he heard this. He loved Japan as well…but it felt wrong, like a man loving greed and gambling. He didn't want it to be wrong, but it was. Hearing Taiwan's confession hurt, but it was out of pity, a pang of sadness.

"I want to sleep in Er-ge's bed, gege." Yao only lifted the light, tired nation into his arms and carried her over to the bed. He kicked back the sheets with the toe of his foot, sinking then to the ground, leaning over her as he set her amid the musty sheets and scents of the past. He pulled the sheets over her, up to her arms. Her eyes were red and tired, but still held a bit of love as she gazed upon him. He petted her hair, and she melted into his touch.

"It smells like Kiku-erge," she whispered, eyes closing as a fond smile settling upon her face. Yao took her hand and held it when she offered it to him, her fingers small but warm.

"Wo ai ni," she whispered breathlessly, falling into the sweet unconsciousness of sleep. His grip tightened around hers.

""Wo ai ni, meimei," he whispered sweetly, reaching down to kiss the crown of her hair. Her smile brightened for an instant before she snuggled beneath the sheets with one final breath.

Yao sat against the wall, hand in hers, the pains of the inner struggle raging stronger than before.

It took every ounce of will to keep himself from screaming in pain.

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* * *

_

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_In order to make your wishes come true  
To rest my wings by your side  
So that these thoughts would reach you  
I painted my heart's wings a definite colour_

_Carved it into my heart  
Up until now, and forever on_

* * *

Last thoughts: Well, another settle-downish chapter with Yao for once after so much Japan. Imperial Japan is sure a class-A jerk isn't he? Poor Taiwan! I thought I might include Taiwan again since it's been since, what, chapter 13? That was sure a long time ago. I'm sure you know by now that Yao's probably going to have a bit of split personalities because of the KMT and the Communist Party factions and their disputes. Oh, and once WW2 comes around…China'll be next of Dark Kiku's hit list.

Are you keeping up with all of Dark Kiku's nicknames? I could easily come up with more, but that would be confusing…

No history as far as what you probably don't know. There's the repeat theme of Taiwan's oppression by Imperial Japan, as well as the pre-China civil war. Not much else, though. I'm thinking next chapter we'll skip to 1927, highlight some of the revolutionary aspects and then skip to the official prelude of WW2 and the many chappies of hell that'll follow. (Oi, I've got my work cut out for me…)

Lyrics are "Varuna" by Nightmare.

Thanks to **Hikari Kame **for beta-ing!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

As always, review, review, review!


	30. Journey to the Bitter End

_The future that the fruit told me of_

_The city that has forgotten reasoning_

_The present is distorted black_

_Dreams, turn into ideals_

_Why? Am I a broken Messiah?_

_Everyone wished for a "finale"…_

_

* * *

_

The world was oblivious to what was happening to it.

Myriad strikes besieged the factories owned by the imperialists and Chinese alike as the people became more and more infuriated. Control was master to whim and whim lost to the minds of the infuriated rabble. Few tried to keep the illusive peace, the shattering order. Bombs became commands and commands drifted throughout the country as hopeless pleas for rest for the unrest taking place, attacking every niche of the Republic of China as it had for years now. The fledgling Communist idealology of Russia was seeping into the bones of a new and old republic. He was helping, sending freights of ammunition and assistance for the still-infantile armies of the Kuomintang. But there was no aid for the Communists; no, at best, the Communists were but shadows drifting throughout the countryside. There's was a voice that was scarcely heard.

The hills were shelter, the night an entity to cloak them. They moved without true respite, looking to the stars, witnesses to the spreading revolution. The world was a blasphemy to peace, the sounds of battle and death raging rampantly through their hearts, seizing their courage in the leer of an insurmountable predator.

They could trust no one. Not the Russians, not the Nationalists, not the Americans. He was to be conquered and ravished by the lust of the Imperialists, a claim to be made and no more. All countries were never to be trusted, for none understood the plight of China.

"Gege!"

_Who…?_

"Gege, wake up!" a voice pleaded, high and alarming.

Yao wrenched his eyes open and swept his gaze about, eyes finally settling on the form of his younger sister, she shivering and casting frenzied glances to the doors barring the room shut. The staccato of boots and the rumble of cannon fire in the distance brought him into reality.

"Mei mei, what's going on?" Yao demanded, warily standing up and assessing the condition of his younger sister, she looking frightened beyond compare.

"There are people here, gege. I think they're robbing this place!" So, this place wasn't home any longer.

"We have to get out of here. I know of a way that we can escape, but it'll be risky. You must follow my every direction, meimei," Yao said, taking her small hand in his calloused one. Her eyes were despairing, like the frenzy of an animal corrupted by a mad fear.

In haste he told her the target of their escape, a high, shuttered window fairly high above them. There were many obstacles present in the means of approach, but they would have no choice if they were to escape this with their lives. Despite the sparseness of this room, he was able to locate footholds and other such objects that would serve in assisting their escape.

"Wait, Gege. We don't need to run," Taiwan said softly, hands over her prattling heart, telling her with the chatter of monkeys to escape, to succumb to irrational fear. She looked at the highest reaches of their escape, closing her eyes in the shafts of sunlight, in angel with the life of dew drops.

Her eyes snapped open, disrupting her serene appearance for but a second. Yao just looked on, eyes of honey dull and crystallized like the faint gleam of topaz.

"Gege, you are China. They have yet to denounce you as an enemy." There was a heavy truth to those words.

He swallowed in uncertainty, wisdom bested by fear flitting like a butterfly through his quivering body. He wished to run from it all.

"We cannot stay here. This place is but a husk compared to our memories. They will take and plunder, so we must leave," Yao urged gently, standing erect once again, taking in those last glorious sunbeams before instinct propelled them ever forward.

Taiwan tugged at the frayed, ghostly cloth of her clothing, looking as if she were stricken by the plight of poverty. "If we can pass as ordinary townsfolk, we'll draw less attention to ourselves, right gege?"

Yao graced to her side, footfalls having been barely heard in his approach. He brushed his hands like bird wings upon her cheek, she looking at him with deeply sorrowful eyes, the eyes of them all of late. "Is there anything you want before…?" Taiwan looked away and her gaze drifted to Kiku's lacquered writing chest. She rose and seamlessly walked to it, whispery fingers tracing the delicate intricacies of its surface.

She set the aged parchment aside, which crumbled almost immediately despite her light touch. Tears rimmed at the corner of her eyes at the insistence of bygone memories. Taiwan pulled it open and rifled through it until hands came to acquire a small silk pouch. Reaching inside procured a thin string of red and a metal-worked pendent with an inset jade dragon clutching the ornate designs. She placed it securely within her breast, the only place of safety on her person.

"And you, gege?" Yao just shook his head, glancing bitterly away. He came to the door, pushing it steadily open with an expected groan of rusted hinges. He exited through, some resolve swearing him not to look back, binding him to the future, of what was ahead of him.

The old China was dead. There was only him as he was now. The golden age was gilded and now tarnished.

Both of them swept through the hollow shadows of the past, the world blurring and distorting into a cacophony of grey, the sounds of a gathering storm, of the distant thunder of battles ensuing around them. With every footstep came a surge of militia men in one place, with every breath a cry of anguish. Hands felt heat and words were uselessly spoken, an empty reassurance of their present existence. Yao led them on through sheer memory, focus not even in the present moment. His thoughts drifted to the way his world had once been, of how surreal such grandeur and luxury had once been.

Through the exit of the building came a distorted chasm of swelling human bodies, militants blending into civilians. The grey of the sky contrasted with the gloom of every face, the occasional twist of anger or leer of indignation. The nation of China was no different from his people, no longer some untouchably deity who mingled with dragons and who spoke only in rhyme and legend and myth. The colors had melted down into illusions and fading hope long ago. It had started with him, but how it would end was still unclear. China was still at the behest of many foreign masters.

The rickety stability of the town melted away into the calming shades of forest and earth, a color of another kind. Transitioning greens and verdant emeralds rustled in the breezes of a ripening spring, a calm taking away some of his fear. Taiwan and he rested on the gnarly trunk of an aged tree, catching their breath, so detached from their own humanity that they had forgotten themselves for a moment. Their bodies pleaded for an end from an escape from nothing, but it would not be possible.

In the sanctuary of the forest, they might be themselves again.

"Yao-gege, I didn't tell you everything about what happened between Hei Riben and I." Her honest confession seemed to be wrapped in hints of despair. "You see, I wasn't entirely honest."

Yao lifted his head more towards her, watching as she surveyed the endless sky with something like detachment and sadness. He said nothing, his silence an encouragement for her to keep speaking.

"He did come to me, but he never was provoked into 'loving' me. I was the one who began it. When he came to my island after many visits, I knew that he wasn't er-ge. I confronted him and asked where er-ge was, and he told me that 'He is safe, under my wing.' We spoke for awhile, mostly business at first…but, then, I acted. I wanted to know so badly…" Taiwan paused, words limp upon her lips. Two fingers touched those lips, as if remembering. She lowered them to her lap, silently contemplating for but a moment.

How the years had aged her.

"I came to him. Already one of his colonies, it seemed permissible. What more could I do? There weren't enough of us to fight his armies and rebellions were so few. There were people who wanted freedom as much as I, but we had no way to attain it. So, I…advanced upon him."

"_Where is er-ge, Hei-Riben?" I said it formally, in broken Japanese. It always made him flinch or grimace in distaste. I was only beginning to learn this devil's tongue._

You should learn more Japanese, imuotou. You're much too impudent,_ was his response, which seemed more like a hissing snake in my ears. I never faltered._

_We were alone, so I thought that I could persuade him at the very least. I wasn't an ignorant, young woman any longer. I knew how to attract a man if need be. _

_He was leaning against the desk reading some book, so I came upon him. I gazed into those soulless eyes and I knew what had to be done. "What have you done with Nihon-nii?" He seemed placated by my better use of his language._

_It was strange how he could change himself so quickly._

_His face became like er-ge, and I fell into a trap. _Meimei, it's me. Hei Riben doesn't exist; it's just a pretense I must put up when away from home. Won't you come to your er-ge?_ His voice sounded so chopped and yet I fell for it. I wanted him so much._

"_Kiku-er-ge!" I shouted as I was embraced tightly by him. He didn't feel like the monster from not even a minute before._

Meimei, would you like to be part of the Empire of Japan? I know how you truly feel about me,_ he said softly, his hands making me melt into him. I couldn't resist those eyes that so wonderfully mimicked Kiku's. _

"_You mean…" I didn't have to say anything more as he pulled me in for a kiss._

_I held him tightly, stumbling a little as he guided us to the lounge within the room. I was scared but also excited, for I had dreamed of this moment for the longest of times. I had longed for him for so long; I wanted him to rescue me from the pain of my life and make me eternally happy. Whether it was a dream come true or a nightmare to unfold, I wasn't yet sure at the time. All I focused on was his lips' warm caress… _

_He eased me upon it, whispering sweet-nothings as he continued. Each time an "I love you" issued from his lips, it paralyzed me with ecstasy. To feel wanted and loved was something I had wanted for so long._

_Tears fell from my eyes as he continued. Then, I felt his hands try to unfasten my clothing._

"_Please, don't. I'm not ready yet…" I pleaded, thinking this illusory prince would listen. I thought he was gentle and loving, the elder sibling I had loved for so long._

My dear, certain things must be done for you to become mine. You're an adult now, in my eyes, and surly you've weathered through many more years than any of your people,_ he purred into my throat as he resumed kissing me. I tried to push him away but he was too strong._

_I resisted more and more until I began caterwauling loudly, which annoyed him greatly. I screamed and lashed out at him, speaking my native tongue and wishing upon him many curses. This awakened within him a fierce anger that didn't belong to Er-ge._

_He slapped me and ordered for me to speak proper Japanese for I didn't. This made him angrier and he lashed out at me, and my voice became strangled by pain and tears. He drew his sword and straddled me, flicking away my hands with his sword that drew blood. I screamed, but no one came. He ripped part of his uniform and with it created a gag which he bound around the mouth and head. Then he tied my hands behind my back and my ankles together. I couldn't move, could barely breathe, and was entirely at the mercy of this man, this devil in sheep's skin._

If you cannot love me the way you wish, then you will know only my love, my dear imuoto! _His sword was drawn and my clothing torn to shreds. He slashed apart my top and I lay before him exposed and humiliated. He yanked me up by my hair and I could only watch that blade as it hissed through the air and pierced my skin. I could distinctly feel the prickle of tears at my eyes, but my voice was silent. He was callous and cruel and I was but his victim._

_That blade carved into my chest and almost into my neck, and the pain was blinding. Streams of blood bathed me in copper heat, red and sticky. The pain seemed incessant and yet I clearly heard him speak of his plans for me to make into Imperial Japan's pride and joy and how my suffering was to benefit the people. I wanted to scream at him, but I couldn't. My world was red and I was drowning in it._

You disgust me, meimei. You will become like onii-sama, do you understand? You reek of that cretin you call 'gege' and I will have no more of it._ He wiped his blade on what remained of my clothing like I was a wretch of his pleasure. He sheathed his blade, continuing._

Your people are disgusting and thoroughly uncivilized. I will send who I can to sanitize this hell hole. You as well cannot seem to understand the principles of civility and that must changed, you horrendous barbarian. I will send for some noblewomen to teach you. I expect you to be wearing a kimono and learn proper manners and not this archaic lifestyle you mistaken to be correct. _My eyes followed him and he completely ignored me, stepping over my body and blood as if I were something so far below him._

Do you understand me, you wretch? I will make you into a proper woman where your brothers are beyond my help. _He left the room without even undoing my fetters, with a casual and arrogant air about him that stunned me._

_For two days I was left, it seemed, to die. It turned out that sentinels had been stationed at the door and around the perimeter of the building. No one came. I had no water or food, and I could never sleep, reliving the nightmare over and over again in my mind stained by his purpose._

_At the end of that time, Xiang-Gang-di finally managed to find me. He had gained access and found me in that room. He took me in his arms, still so brazenly exposed, and took me away to a safe place where he cared for and nursed me back to health. Then, as suddenly as he came for me, he was forced into leaving. He never talked to me and I awakened to him gone. I feared for him so much._

"Xiang Gang has always been a good boy," Yao said quietly, gathering his knees helplessly into himself. To hear of what happened to his brothers and now Taiwan was simply heartbreaking.

"Will we ever be a family again, Gege?" Taiwan asked feebly, her eyes rimmed with tears. Yao hated the sadness that never wanted to leave as of late.

His eyes were downcast, fingers curling into the tender and moist earth. Everything was shaking and he wondered how long he had until he fell off his axis. His siblings' lives were being destroyed in the greed of Imperialism and war and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it.

"My people are stirring, as we have seen. They can no longer take being under someone else's rule. That is why this is happening, meimei. I feel myself dying every day as someone else is being born. The emperor is gone and my people are warring among themselves," he spoke quietly, almost whispering like the breezes that tugged at their hair.

"Who goes there?" a voice struck through their silence, jarring both Yao and Taiwan. They leapt to their feet, seeing a man armed with a rifle and dressed in a uniform approach them. Yao flinched; the man was of the Kuomintang army.

He said nothing, only holding his ground. The man lowered his firearm, relaxing his face.

"Zhongguo, Taiwan, we have been searching for you. Please, come this way. We must escape from this place." Yao and Taiwan heeded the man's warnings, coming to his side.

"What are we escaping from?" Yao asked, suspicious and wary. Taiwan clung to one of his arms.

"Communists, the Japanese. Take your pick. Both are in the area and we're fighting them," the man said tersely, guiding them through the thick brush.

Yao swallowed and Taiwan looked anxious. There was no denying what the man said.

* * *

_Within the spreading darkness,_

_We exchanged vows of revolution_

_An evil flower that sprouted because it was loved_

_I can't let anyone interfere_

_With everything that will come about from now on_

_Someday, I'll show you a shining world_

_

* * *

_

Last Thoughts: Nyah, I made you guys wait for over two months. I'm sooorry! I blame my lack of a muse and just a lack of good plot ideas. I've been studying a lot of China during this period, which explains my gross lack of updates when I promised that I would update weekly. Sad, huh? Well, now that school is back to normal and exams are over, I can get back into updating fics that could really use it. Oh, by the way, I'm going to be going back and overhauling a lot of chapters that just really embarrass me. It won't be unrecognizable, just toned down so characters are more IC and less smexing and the like where it reaaally isn't needed.

I thought it kinda necessary to go into Taiwan's back story for her abuse since I don't think I made it very clear in the last chappie. I did that with the Koreas and with Japan, so I thought maybe I should rip away the fluffy Japan/Taiwan pretense a lot of Japan/Taiwan works have. Trust me; even if you only check out wiki, you'll see how much Japan actually abused the Taiwanese people. Maybe not as buttery as oh-so-objective wiki paints it to be, but I'm very certain it wasn't as fluffy and nice as we all like to think it was, even though Japan did help advance Taiwan's infrastructure and whatnot. The reason I have chapters that go into his abuse of the other Asian-tans was because that was the reality of Japan's imperialism. Not even Hong Kong or Vietnam was spared from such brutality. I know that Hong Kong won't feature much in this story, but I'll be sure to bring him up in **Funeral Rush: Between the Storms** a lot more often, okie dokie?

Announcements: Funeral Rush will now be a 4 part series. Part 2/4 will be **Funeral Rush: Between the Storms** and will be England/China-centric. It will basically revolve around the period a little bit before and after the Opium Wars, which means a serious war-fic is on the way. Don't worry; there will be gratuitous amounts of IggyChu for your fangirling pleasure~

Next chapter will explore the guerilla movements of both parties and their viewpoints and whatnot. Then, I may just skip to 1937 when Dark Japan invades Nanking… I think you know what happens in 1931…

Credits: History belongs to history, and history comes from other sources that I read up on. Thanks to **Hikari Kame **for beta-ing! Lyrics are from Nightmare's 'The World.'


	31. Where The Story Starts Again

_You know?  
I realized that I hated everything  
You know?  
I'd even turned my back on the one and only me_

_Unable to stop the sigh that announces everyday_  
_I think and let my irritation increase_

* * *

Within the gloomy spread of darkness, voices engaged themselves with dissonance through the caves. The floors were swept ash and jutting stone, lines and wires for communication laid bare like creeping snakes upon the ground. It was as if an enormous snake had hollowed this space into the earth, like the legends of old and the myths of the ancients. The air was rank with crammed bodies and the tingling sensation of tension, punctuated by a foot soldier's intermittent chatter in a vain attempt to calm himself. Smoke suffocated breathing and the tint of gasoline in subtle pools of water were offsetting. The darkness was consuming, and he feared that it would soon be engorged with the bodies of those within.

"Yao-ge, where are they taking us?" Taiwan whispered tensely, her breath coming out like the jagged fall of stones, worried and fearful. Yao could only tighten his grasp around her, wishing he could be stronger than he was pretending to be.

The man ahead cast tentative glances their way, his enigmatic eyes betraying nothing but the occasional glance of light from ensconced light, glow in blue flame. His uniform was worn, and the simple fact was that he was lucky to be wearing a uniform at all; a vast majority, on both sides, were subject to wearing the scraps of clothing on their backs, or nothing at all.

"Please, don't worry yourselves over that. You're needed for a quick briefing, but that is all." The young man looked forwards again, dodging around men cloaked in dust and darkness.

The proceeded over rough terrain for what seemed like an eternity, but the burst of sunlight at the entrance denoted the fact that they weren't in very far at all, although his engrossment in his own thoughts made it seem so.

The man stopped and knocked quickly against the wall, speaking a hushed password through a scrap of cloth hung from nails in the ceiling. There was a hesitant pause before the man stood to the side and let Yao and Taiwan pass through.

Yao gingerly raised the old silk screen and ghosted through, Taiwan following suit. Inside was a makeshift room, a wooden cot in one corner with random paraphernalia spread throughout. Equipment for communications were mounted upon a decrepit old desk as well as many boxes of munitions and other such war necessities. It was small and boxed in, but Yao understood the necessity for such cramped quarters versus camping out in the open.

A small table was rounded with higher ranking personnel than the man who'd guided them, and these men greeted Yao in hushed, solemn voices. Taiwan drifted into a corner, easing herself upon the rickety cot, preferring it over the talk of war.

A small lantern swung from the ceiling idly, although it was more unnerving than calming, for a distraction. Yao took his seat among them, eyes steadily gazing over the many maps and other such papers. A man who began speaking drew his attention from such an endeavor.

"We plan on heading to Nanking very soon. We've been on campaign for several weeks now. We need to reform our numbers and attack where the Japanese are starting to infiltrate. There's word of them planning an attack on Nanking, but for that, we are not certain."

Yao's eyes glazed over, but he brought himself to attention once again. The men began talking as he listened, and immediately his thoughts wandered back to Japan. His little brother who'd given his body up to Russia, then what had happened so long before...

* * *

_You've finally come to me, my dear, _a voice coiled around in the darkness, the velvet darkness. It was soft and caressing, and the bounds around his hands binding his to the headboard were starting to become painful. Dark Japan availed his lovely treat, he wrapped within a dark, silk yakuta. He sighed in pleasure at the sight of Japan before him.

Japan was loosely bound in a kimono reminiscent of the Heian Court, it flowing rich and long over the sheets like rivers over land, blending together in silky fusion. The colors were rich and mellow, extremely easy on the eyes, taking no brilliance from the one enshrouded within them. His slim legs showed themselves tantalizingly, shining streaks from the many sources of light; candles, the fireplace, lamps. All were dull and like the moon upon every inch of exposed skin. His eyes alighted upon the boyish nation's face. His lips were richly plumped and glossed, make-up covering the disgusting wounds and scars, a soft, velvet fold covering his eyes. Dark Japan licked his lips at the sight of his beautiful ward, at how he was artfully bound on the bed. He skirted around it and proceeded to Japan's side, his star within the moody darkness.

"And you think I had a choice," Japan replied easily, forcing himself to breathe calmly. That's right: he felt no true fear. Dark Japan had drained it from him long ago. He shifted slightly, hands flexing slightly. Dark Japan frowned at the interruption of the quiet masterpiece before him; however, it wasn't meant to last.

He mounted the bed, sitting with a commanding presence before his love. Japan shifted, as if to move away, but the boyish nation knew better than to defy Dark Japan, especially after the deal they'd made not long before.

_But if you had no choice, than why are you here? _Dark Japan chortled within his throat, beginning to slightly shed his yukata. However, he stopped himself when realizing the venture he wanted to save for Japan. He was Japan's husband, after all.

"I'm doing it to delay the attack upon my Yao-ge," Japan said with an emotionless voice, the pinnacle of Dark Japan's accomplishments; the conquering and control of Japan body and soul. He was irked by Japan's motive to do it; out of all of the things keeping him from completely conquering the nation, it was Japan's insidious plot to keep him from taking over the nation's helpless brother.

_Ah, but do you notice the key word there, my love? Delay. It will happen very soon, for our conquering of the world will not be delayed, _Dark Japan purred, lips heedlessly tracing the contours of his neck. Japan wordlessly allowed his darker half access , hands twitching in involuntary irritation.

"You are wrong if you think will have him," Kiku said darkly, to which Dark Kiku replied with an even darker chuckle. Dark Kiku stroked the lacy cords binding Kiku's ankles, disguised as easily as an indiscreet motion. Kiku tossed back his head, licking his lips suggestively.

_And you think that you will? _Dark Kiku purred, finding a small knife from the confines of his yukata and holding its cold, burning tip to the rush of blood surging through Kiku's neck. Kiku jerked back, and with one fluid motion, dipped forward again and licked the length of it with the greedy embrace of his tongue. His face resumed his deadpan expression, but Dark Kiku's face pulled into a wide smirk.

_And you wonder why I never tire of you, even after thousands of years. Without words you defy me more than anyone ever could, _Dark Kiku chuckled, casting his glance aside and into a dark corner. It returned, something furious in his eyes. _And yet,I can never grow sick or tired of you. _

Dark Kiku lunged for Kiku, submersing him within dark waters, almost undoing the bindings.

How furious the evening was going to be.

* * *

The world around them jumped.

Yao returned to reality, not at all startled, but still brought to attention, snapped violently from his deep reverie. Taiwan rushed over to Yao's side, cowering against him, she so unused to the roars and slaughter of war. Words couldn't be spoken as everyone present stood stock-still as the earthly tremors unsettled sprays of dust, the lights flickering uncertainly before plunging them fully into darkness.

The men called for silence, quickly igniting lanterns that burst into flame and consumed the darkness with insignificant little orbs that barely stretched very far. Yao was courteously handed one, and Meimei seemed even more reluctant to leave his side now.

The men planned amongst themselves what course of action to take, and it was decided that a small party should scout the area, since bombardment from above and around was preventing a large party from dispersing and assessing whatever threat was launched against them.

All that were ordered to leave did, Yao doing so at his own discretion. Taiwan was taken into deeper caverns, entrusted to them by Yao, who felt that he could trust these men. For now.

"I'll head with the first reconnaissance group. Zhongguo, where will you be? Here, or with us?" Yao considered it thoughtfully.

"I'll remain with you. I'm going to scout ahead as well," Yao replied, taking a rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. He tightened his boots and adjusted his uniform, making sure that everything was in order. Resolved, he joined the small squadron of men.

Outside, the world seemed to be in the perfect semblance of peace. There was only a short distance between them and the woods, offering quick cover should aerial bombardment ensue.

The wind seemed to chill itself in fear, and the clouds rolled past in a melancholy march, waves of grass shuddering and bowing in their avoidance of the fearful wind. Tree branches were tremulous and crackled together apprehensively, chattering like soldiers fresh to the field. Yao had been that way once, but he was like that no longer, nor could he recall such a time. Thousands of years had deceived the precision of a once clear mind. He was too old for his own good.

There was a moment of silence before they heard an onrush of sound from another direction, and it was that of a large aircraft overtaking the land with its thunderous bursts of noise like the anger of gods. Yao held his ground, hiding in the ground as the gigantic bird of metal flew over their heads with waves of wind, making the nation crouch closer still to the land.

Moments later, they heard in make a cacophonous landing to the earth, landing in the large field that spread endlessly to the four winds. Yao raised his head, watching as the aircraft shuddered to complete silence. The butt of his disgorged a small squadron of Japanese soldiers, the planes maximum capacity. Yao instantly recognized them; small parties such as these acted as scouts, assessing whether or not the area was suitable for takeover or occupation.

They talked quietly among themselves. Yao could hear traces of their conversation, understanding only a little. Their dialects were difficult to disseminate compared to what Kiku-di usually spoke in. The men next to Yao understood slightly, they having been forced to learn some because they'd been living in occupied cities, which forced them to assimilate to the language and such before rebelling and joining to Kuomintang or the Communists.

"What will you have us do?" Yao asked quietly, raking over the stillness of the men around him.

"We're going to make their mission very difficult," the man next to Yao replied, pulling the tab off of a grenade and hurling it high into the air.

Several others repeated the action, and soon, the quick release of fire and smoke sent the Japanese into a panic, they all scattering and shouting incoherently among themselves. Yao aimed his rifle, firing intermittently at the scramble of silhouettes . He brought several down, but there were many more in the squadron to be rid of.

"Alright men, take them down!" the commanding officer of Yao's group shouted above the wind and turmoil.

Yao departed from them and decided to take them down with hand-to-hand combat, something no one's skill could match. He crouched among the tall stalks like a tiger, then springing silently into the air above a pair of unsuspecting soldiers, removing a small dagger from its sheath and stabbing them effortlessly at the base of one of their necks.

"Yojiro?" one cried in a panic.

Yao emerged from the rolling waves of smoke and heat, holding the corpse of Yojiro, the man he'd killed. The other Japanese started, beginning to say, "Don't do that, you bastard," before Yao let the corpse slump in a sick heap to the ground. The man started and began shooting at Yao, who seized the corpse again and began using it as a human shield.

The corpse was riddled with bullets in a short amount of time, it convulsing with each and every impact. When the man stopped to reload his gun, Yao released the corpse and overtook the man in a silent kill, finishing him off quickly.

Yao, back to his senses, flinched as he felt something lodged within his side. Swimming through flesh and blood was the metallic deposit of a bullet.

* * *

_You know?  
Everyone lives carrying their worries  
You know?  
Lying, deceiving, protecting themselves_

_The words that connect everyday taught me something_  
_The days that allowed me to realize it smile_

* * *

Last thoughts: God, this was such a lame chapter. Well, if you must know, these past months have inhibited me from proper fanfiction writing. I've been suffering from mounting PTSD and Bi-polar disorder, so being motivated while in the midst of school has been increasingly difficult. However, since it is summer, I truly hope to finish this story seeing that I've got the whole summer ahead of me. I can't make this promise since anything could happen, but I'll do my best to update this on a daily basis since I've neglected it for so long. If I don't update, it may mean that the chapter doesn't have enough going for it, kind of like this chapter. Please forgive me, but my life have been very rough lately. I hope you can continue to enjoy this~

History: "In the 1930's, Japan was wracked by internal discord. The effects of the international depression and general dissatisfaction with Japan's loss of prestige in the 1920's led young officers in the military to oppose the civilian government of Japan. These young officers complained that the civilian bureaucrats were weak, inefficient, indecisive, and corrupt, and openly agitated for a "Showa restoration," in which the emperor would be placed in charge of the government in place of the inefficient bureaucracy. A series of maneurvers by these self-proclaimed saviors of Japan slowly put Japan on a militaristic and aggressive path which would eventually lead to the invasion of China in 1937.

In July of 1937, the Japanese invoked one of the provisions of the Boxer Protocols of 1901 which allowed Japan and other countries to station troops east of Beijing. They held military training exercises near Peiping and, claiming that a soldier was missing, demanded the right to enter the city of Wanping. When they were refused, they bombarded the city and occupied it on July 8."

Thanks, as always, is owed to my fantastic beta, **Hikari Kame**, as well as you, my dear readers!

Lyrics are from Gurugamesh's Arrow.

As always, review, review, review!


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